So last night I was searching for something I’d written a long time ago and thought I’d check and see if it ever ended up on my blog. What ensued was several hours of reminiscing… plus one late dinner. Oops. I started this blog five and a half years ago and a lot has happened and much has been written in that time that I’d completely forgotten about. So I’m going to re-post a few old favourites. The following was written in June 2008.
On Speaking to Myself
It’s quarter to eleven, you should get up now.
God. Really? Quarter to eleven? It doesn’t feel like it. That’s terrible, I’ll get up now.
I roll onto my side and discover how comfortable it really is on my left side. I wish I’d been lying on my left side for the last half hour. I pause, on my left side, just for a minute.
Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there, hang on.
What would your brother-in-law say right now? You still being in bed at quarter to eleven?
Me thinking about my brother-in-law while I’m naked in bed disturbs me and I pull the covers up to my nose. My bloodshot eyes are like two red beacons, willing my husband to bring me coffee.
He would say – You can’t do THIS when you have children you know, you can’t sleep-IN on a Sunday morning. And he would roll his chirpy blue eyes to the chirpy blue sky and lift all four chirpy children with one perfectly muscled arm as they chirpily squealed for chirpy joy. Where the hell is my husband? He never brings me coffee in bed so why the hell can’t he work out that THIS is the morning I need one?
Couples with children shouldn’t be allowed to talk to couples without children. It should be a law. My brother-in-law probably really thinks that I have no idea about not having another sleep-in for the next 20 years. All the more reason to stay here just a little bit longer.
Are you getting up now?
Am I the only part of our consciousness that’s capable of eliciting movement? You get up.
We won’t be able to do this when we have kids you know.
I roll my bloodshot eyes around and around my head until I feel dizzy.
I can’t get up, I’m dizzy.
We need to get the washing on while the sun’s still warm.
That’s the most imbecilic thing you’ve ever said, you’re clearly sleep-deprived, now go back to sleep.
The bathroom needs cleaning.
I’m right there, it really does. I can hear its tortured screams from beyond the wall next to me. I pull the covers up over my ears.
Pfft, I pfft. But I’ve run out of excuses. The bathroom is wailing in staphylococcus studded screams, the washing is mounting a mutiny on the laundry floor, the kitchen sink is a cacophony of caterwauling, and I need to pee.
‘How would you like an amazing energy drink that is guaranteed to taste good and get you out of bed?’ My husband looms over me and smiles at my red eyeballs poking above the top of the sheet. A broad hand clamped around a hot coffee comes into view.
I look at him. My gratitude swamps the bed like a menopausal hot flush.
Let’s not have kids, what’d’ya reckon honey?
Did I say that out loud?