|By the light of the street-lamp on the|
way out for milk last night, gone
2100 hrs, with an app to hide the
stubble and smooth the forehead.
I have a date for one set of building work, a contractor for the second, and the shower and bathroom remain untouched except for my bodge job that seems to be holding for now. I have turned down my mother's offer of a holiday Oop North over the weekend as I had considered using that time to play-act a little more. Maybe get a hair-cut later today or tomorrow to try and turn my mop into something a little more ordered. Still too long to hide, too short to style, too feminine to really try for a masculine style.
Busy few days. I did nothing on the Tuesday but spent nearly all day doing it, taking the Boy to the game cafe. He lost every game. I managed to win one. KT's boy, new to the scene, won three out of four. Offered condescending advice to my Boy. He's younger, got an expensive deck. It grates a little. Because my Boy is better at this than I he has remained friends despite this, was not riled or upset, had a good time. The following day, yesterday, I took the family to the other city nearby - Tilly had a hospital appointment for her thyroid - and took them to a park that turned out better than I dared hope. Cue the smallest getting upset that we had to leave as quickly as we did and the eldest doing the same. Tilly has nodules, nothing to worry about according to the specialist, but they will check just in case. Tilly paid me £3 for the trouble.
|Remember me I ask,|
remember me I sing.
Think of all the horrors
I promise you
that I bring.
I couldn't say no to either short-notice request. Why wouldn't I take the time to have a good experience with my youngest child? Build a good memory for him. Of course the timings kept changing - I rushed tea then had to wait, ended up staying out with him until 2000 hrs. Too late to really relax in the evening as I had to run out to get milk. Tilly was taking the Boy to look at a cat they may adopt, it looks as though they will too - not the plan as originally told me, but I'm in no position to ask for nor receive regular updates.
Banged one out this morning whilst thinking about hair. Plaiting. Mine. Reflection: nothing has really changed, has it? I said it before here: I have all the time in world, beer and the internet.
|- You stole the best years of my life|
- I'll give them back.
On the way out for free coffee in the
sunshine earlier in the week.
Lily granted me access to their writing folder last night. As usual it's bloody good. All works in progress, nothing polished, but it has that spark that I like. Characterisation. Cleverly unreliable narrators (the fact that their personality changes the way metaphors and similies are used really hammers that home in the prose - not in speech but in the relation of the story, making perspective changes sing) that allow the story to leak out rather than be shoved in your face. Lily is a master at language and craft. Very like Servitor actually. I used to harbour dreams of writing this well.
Free coffee at Ikea is the plan. Then lunch. Hair-cut? I don't know. Bath; shave legs, chest and pits; choose what I shall wear for the evening. Tea. Go. Avoid the people leaving other groups that spied me and laughed last time - maybe not at me, but I hid anyway and still hit ladies leaving yoga on the way in. Burning with embarrassment. And why not? Chat. Ask no useful questions, pontificate on something like the little professor I am, alienate and erect those walls. Then home, bed, sleep.
If you have been, thank you for reading. I can't give you that time back.