Does anyone else think in blog prose? Instead of just thinking, I find myself thinking in blog styley. Even just little mundane (god,that's my word of the week), random thoughts that would never be posts. For example, tonight as I was cleaning up I composed the following:
There's something draggy about housework. I was scrubbing the table, and looked up to see my busty self reflected in the kitchen doors. I put me in mind of 'I Want to Break Free', despite the fact that I was wearing neither moustache, pink plastic earrings, vinyl mini skirt nor suspenders.
How funny is the leotarded, interpretive dance bit in the middle? Is that freedom?
If anyone else is viciously filthy like me, they might have to scrub hardened gunk off their surfaces occasionally. A bottle cap works fabulously for the task and saves on elbow grease or cleaner. Top Tip!
The husband was out doing garden work while I was cleaning in the kitchen (we have a 1st birthday party to plan for). I thought I heard him at the side of the house and called to him, but he wasn't there. Yet I still sensed a presence. I wonder how often we're actually in the presence of something sinister or malevolent or who knows what, and we don't know it, because we're trained to be practical and dismiss the possibility? I was scared of the dark as a kid because of what I imagined to be lurking in it, and still, at Christmas I found myself walking down a little dark road in the country after a party to get to my car, and all I thought about was werewolves.
I've been meaning to buy one of those oilskin (pvc?) tablecloths that you buy off the roll for about ten years. I've got so far as to go to a couple places and look but they're usually pretty naff. I went in to the posh fabric shop in Dunlaoighre today and came home with this fabulous, groovy retro thing today. It's too late for the table - a tall, clawy dog and two children later, it's fucked. But the baby BOY is now knocking lumps out of it with anything he gets his hands on, so I may as well have something to keep it smooth a while longer. The nice man in the shop gave me about three feet too much (I was right, you silly man). But still, doesn't matter, it'll come in useful - better too long than too short, eh?
My husband is pissing me off at the moment. He likes to invent wild, emotive, irrational arguments, and then stick to them doggedly when he's off form. I have no idea how to deal with that. Arguing just makes him go on the attack. It's hard to come to compromises or solutions when all you can do is think 'well, that's just fucking stupid.' We seem to be back in the band/work/no time for family slot at the moment. Though he's making more of an effort to help get ready for the party than I expected, so that's good.
There was other stuff, but I've forgotten.