Today I have done the bare minimum to pass as an adult, and spent the rest of it asleep. This is my default, ‘the world is too much’, response. It used to be going out and getting pissed and dancing till four in the morning. Now it involves a slanket and a healthy disdain for anything I have to wear that isn’t pyjamas.
My dishwasher went on strike this morning. Not only did it fail to wash anything, it also failed to drain, and then emptied itself all over my kitchen floor. I was surprisingly calm about this. Some light swearing, a lot of mopping and a bit of staring at pipes under the sink unit and I was able to categorically assure myself that I still know nothing about plumbing.
An engineer was supposed to come out by three this afternoon. Naturally this means we have seen hide nor hair of him and he may or may not appear tomorrow at some point. In the meantime I had a slight moment of woe when I realised that the dinner I had chosen to cook used ALL the saucepans, the grill, a roasting tin and forty seven other things all of which needed washing up by hand.
I was not, however, resourceful enough to think of making something else. I am in one of my non-inspired phases of cooking which involves me thinking wistfully of cheese sandwiches and Hula Hoops while being required to actually assemble real food for four other people at times I don’t really want to eat it. This is largely down to the hormone thing, as everything I eat tastes either of soap or metal at the moment and it is not entirely thrilling to spend several hours chained to a stove to then have to stolidly much through the soap/metal combo.
In between falling asleep I am reading Kate Atkinson’s A God in Ruins. It is so wonderful I am quite sad that I keep waking up with it welded to my face. I remember reading Behind the Scenes at the Museum when it first came out and loving it so much. It is so pleasing that she just gets better and better as the years go by.
Other than that, I have signed forty million school letters, which will end up costing me eleventy squillion pounds due to impending school trips and the like. I have failed to pick up Tallulah’s boot from the mender (she is not hopping to school, all is well). I have done some work and ignored other work on the understanding that no matter what I do, there will always be more of it tomorrow.
I have also booked my yearly ‘fucking hell my bloody hormones, save me, you bastards,’ appointment at the Doctor’s. I envisage it going much like the ones I have every year, where they dismiss everything I say and try to give me something that will make me more bat shit crazy than I usually am. I will sit in the car park and weep, drive to the nearest shop to mainline whatever it is I’m eating that day that doesn’t taste like bicycle spare parts and then get a bit stabby about it all. This too shall pass.
In the meantime, I am keeping half an eye on the news. Who knew that I’d end up cheering on John Bercow? These times make for interesting bedfellows.