Ah. better now. It's all fine in small doses, but the relentless chreeezemass is starting to make tooth grinding a full time occupation. I need a break from real life and a trip to the welcoming (or at least, endlessly patient) arms of the internets. Either that, or I think now might be the time to break out the emergency temazepam I was astonished not to need at mamie et papy's foodathon.
- Children waking at times as late as 8am, and requiring little more than tv turned on, blind eye turned to eating tree decorations and regular supply of AA batteries.
- Wraithlike presence of Prog Rock Step Dad like a tea making holy hermit, sleeping 20 hours a day and emerging only to read passages of his 80000 page history of Ireland out loud and make tea. Not only that, Prog Rock Step Dad has brought with him a small armchair, 400 Yorkshire tea bags, some impressively un-festive crackers (nail clippers or a shoe horn anyone?), 43 of my old PG Wodehouse novels and some fantastically horrid photos of me aged 13. Almost worse, some incredibly foxy and gorgeous photos of me at 17 with all my own hair and eyelashes. Actually, that should be in the bad column, but I am too tired to put it there.
- Presence of Space Cadette sleeping like a tiny heap of hairy laundry far too close to fire. Abusing Space Cadette's good nature for spawn minding.
- Sitting in front of fire staring slack jawed at shiny Christmas tree for sometimes up to an hour at a time undisturbed.
- Endless supply of cups of tea not made by me.
Not so much:
- The sinusitis, the aching joints and general sensation of decrepitude and morbidity. Combined with Lashes ongoing struggles with DEATH. ("I had forgotten for a moment I am going to DIE and then it came baaack...." etc etc etc). As previously noted, any event involving cheer and celebration and the like is marked in the Waffle household by terrible intimations of mortality. Yes, truly the fun never stops.
- The dreams:
E: We rolled it up in a rug and put it under the floor boards, but when we got back home someone had found it and taken it away and we were in deep shit. I can remember the cold dread so so well.
CFO: That was stupid. The smell would have been a giveaway, even tightly rolled. The fire is working really well at the moment. It would have been much more sensible to dismember the body and burn it piece by piece.
E: What, one piece a day and keep the rest in the freezer?
CFO: No, best all in one go.
E: But what about the smell?
CFO: Best not to kill someone at home at all. And the only murder you can properly get away with is a motiveless one anyway.
E: Motiveless killing outside the home then. I'll tell my subconscious.
- The impossibility of reconciling CFO's need for a rational, orderly home and:
(ii) Own indolence and inability to give a shit
(iii) Space Cadette's tendency to shed clothing, stuff, apple cores, half drunk cups of tea and newspapers in irregular formation around her person.
- The New Year Fear
Ok; let me know how you lot are holding up. Do you need a turn of the emergency temazepam? Some made up obscenities?