I'm opening the Belgian Waffle Secular Confessional again. I know, it isn't Friday, but I have a lot to get off my chest, and I am sure you do too. (First confession - I love confessional because it gets lots of comments and I am a shameless comments whore). As always - I confess, you give penance, you confess, I give penance. Ready, steady, sin!
1. I am fucking awful at this 3 days at home to concentrate on writing 'thing'. The way it goes is this.
- take children to school (in pyjamas, bien sur) after chaos crunch breakfast shift. Dog breathes sigh of relief after hour of intense molestation and tail pulling. I breathe sigh of relief at blissful silence. Dog goes back to sleep. I play with the internets.
- around ten I get washed. Maybe. On good days. Then play with the internets some more. Make a mental list of all the important administrative things I should be doing.
- Goodness, it's already lunchtime! I have done nothing on list and no writing. Stare into space and eat biscuits.
- It's around 2. Too late to do any of the list things. Tidy kitchen half heartedly and revel in vast sense of achievement. Play with internets until spawn hometime.
- between spawn hometime and CFO hometime, flit backwards and forwards between low rent parenting and checking internets. If pressed, tell spawn I am "working" and will change channels/provide snacks "in a minute". Look up to see they have left a trail of biscuit debris all around the house and are encouraging the dog to chew the sofa. Feign mystification when they are not hungry at dinner time due to biscuit consumption.
- When CFO asks how things are going, tell him pompously that there is lots of thinking time required before he will see any actual output. Imply that playing on internets is all part of my grand plan, and he couldn't possibly understand.
- Get crippling anxiety late at night and get up to fritter more time on internets.
I have written three pages. I can see my entire life skittering away from me as I look out of the window at Aisha the bearded cat and rationalise my way out of going to the Post Office.
2. See point two here. Still not done. I KNOW! Holy mother of Nathan, what is wrong with me? I have a blocage. In my brain. A blocage preventing me walking ten steps down into cellar, noting down number of modem and filling in a form. I am heartily sick of myself. I wish to be made a ward of court, and have all administrative and financial tasks removed from my feeble hands. They could pay me a small allowance, say €3 per day to buy flan. I think it could work.
3. I am trying to work out if I can change working hours again to spend more time with dog. I would totally do it if I thought I could get away with it. I am obsessed with the goddam dog and his silky, silky ears and scrawny body. On work days, when I am heading home, I agonise about who to go and rescue first - puppy or children? Puppy or children? Sometimes I vary this with puppy, children, or cake shop? To date the puppy has not won, but only because it would break his heart if I were to come, give him a stroke, then disappear AGAIN to go get spawn. The cake shop has won twice. I am not a good person at all.
4. I may have implied to several people (boss in particular, who finds it pleasing to refer to me now as 'hausfrau' and ask me how the queues in Delhaize were) that I am in discussions with an agent. This is simply untrue. A nice man emailed me once offering to read what I produce. BUT I HAVE NOT PRODUCED ANYTHING. Aaaaagh! How long can I maintain this charade?!
Ok, enough. I am blushing as I type. Over to you. Anonymous confessions are positively encouraged; ridiculous fake names also. Please don't leave me here all alone with my nest of sin?