This was my diary for last week.
There was THE GOOD…
- Out of all the potential for things going horrendously wrong when you force your non-conformist ADHD teenager to the school formal (where drink and drugs are not allowed), Kurt only forgot his date’s corsage. U-turn on the Harbour Bridge in rush hour – too easy; Valium taken – nil.
- Bought tickets to fawn over the legend that is John Legend at the Opera House.
Ski team quarterly meet at Starfish restaurant in Avalon, which is still my absolute favourite restaurant for fish in Sydney. Melt-in-your-mouth breaded whitebait followed by the freshest Snapper in some zingy Asian marinade and then the climactic Chocolate Lava Cake, that beats orgasm hands-down every time. It was my turn to drive, but the food more than made up for having to tolerate the company of drunks. Of course when I say ‘the ski team’, a more apt description might be the Fair Weather and Schnapps Ski team. That’s not to say that there are no serious contenders for the middle-aged winter Olympics in our group, but the majority of us will only don our Aldi ski wardrobe in perfect conditions. Ie. sun out, kids in, and the waft of mulled wine greeting us on the final slope.
- NC tidied her room and her sheets walked themselves to the laundry. I have questioned her continued misrepresentation of her tidiness to NB (Nerd Boy), but even she realises that exposing him to her special level of ‘cockroach-fest’ mess might threaten their relationship.
- Kurt carried his dinner plate from the living area, identified what that funny white machine in the kitchen was, and placed it inside.
- Bought Kurt a set of drums as part of yet another negotiation package. (Sort of). If the sound of Kurt banging away to Nirvana all hours of the day does compete with the neighbours yapping dogs, revenge will be all too sweet.
- Inspiration – if you didn’t catch this video, watch it and weep and be thankful that these angels exist…
And THE BAD…
- An hour of torture in the dentist chair just to get half my old bird teeth squeaky
clean with the aid of (what I am certain was) illegal quantities of anaesthesia to prevent me from leaping out of aforementioned chair and adhering myself to the ceiling. Only I could be stupid enough to organize a meeting two hours afterwards. I had sorely under-calculated the size of the invisible rugby ball that would be lodged in my gums afterwards as I attempted to verbalise what was in my head. Thank God for my talent for ‘charades’. Unfortunately, I also chose to ignore the hygienist when she told me not to drink or eat anything for 3 or 4 hours. I didn’t spill hot coffee down my chin but the sound effects of my slurping can’t have been attractive.
It was a week of very little sense of achievement. I fear that I am in danger of ‘cruising’ mentally as my day job becomes seasonally quieter and my personality-type struggles with the lack of structure to the day. I work best in ‘manic’ gear. When I cruise, I struggle to get out from under the covers and then flit about like a fly under a bright light, becoming distracted by anything and everything until I reach the end of the day and question where the fuck the time went. I did, however, make some progress with the next Booker Prize winner (my book) but am editing and re-editing my opening chapter. Would this make you want to read on?
She sensed that something wasn’t quite right as she turned her key in the lock of the front door.
She noticed the heavy silence immediately. It hung uncharacteristically in the air, almost as choking as smoke.. Usually there would be the comforting cacophony of ‘home’ noise inside.
James did shift work, so he was often at home when she arrived back. He enjoyed his own company and could usually be found mowing the lawn or surfing the net for new music. He spent a lot of time on his own these days. She suspected that he was in the middle of some sort of midlife crisis.
Will would normally be at home at that time too, now that he’d been kicked out of school. He would be belting out a very different genre of music to James, and typically unsociably loudly, with scant regard for their neighbours or anyone else. That was one of the reasons they’d concealed him away in the room at the very top of their large terraced house – like Mrs Rochester in Jane Eyre.
One of the reasons.
But everything was very still on that Monday afternoon, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the pervasive tick of the kitchen clock.
She couldn’t have understood the implications of that silence then, as she pulled the door closed behind her. In fact it would be a long time before she would fully appreciate what closing the front door that day would come to symbolize. That she was shutting the door on her old world, and entering the next phase of her life.
And then there was THE FUGLY…
- MYLIE CYRUS, WTF possessed you to don that white body suit in public? I don’t want to see your labia while I’m eating my dinner and furthermore, it has been proven by scientists this very week that pubes have a function and we need to leave them the fuck alone. For the sake of the sisterhood, please let them free to do their work.
- The house is a permanent shit pit in spite of me carrying the vacuum all the way down from the attic and looking at it pensively for two whole days.
- The baby belly continues to grown at an alarming rate and for no apparent reason, but most probably because it knows that it is almost bikini season. I would calculate that my due date is sometime after Christmas. When the dental hygienist asked me if I might be pregnant, I nearly punched her teeth out.
How was your week?
- Diary Of A Middle-Aged Woman (mymidlifemayhem.wordpress.com)