The interwebs, she be broken over here. Not entirely broken, but slow as a wet week, as my mother used to say. I can’t use that saying, because my children would have no idea what I mean. None at all. Though I hear Adelaide has had some rain of late. Not here though. Thirty eight degrees today, forty two tommorrow (according to the paper).
Last week, I spent five days without going outside once and remained surprisingly stable. Combination of sick child, sick self, injured child, too hot to care anyway. I used the gym upstairs – a small, but adequate arrangement, such as you might find in a hotel. It has a magnificent view, particularly at night, when everything is just sparkly. And the week that the moon is filling is always spectacular, would you not agree?
I did not cry once while I was living inside. Then, yesterday, driving home from a birthday party, I nearly had an accident, caused entirely by a man who was going too fast, changed lanes without indicating, then wound down his window and yelled at me. Knees, voice and resolve all wobbly.
The day before yesterday, I went back to bodycombat. It made me laugh, especially when I hit myself in my own face.
The lads have three and half days left of school. For some reason, which I can not fathom, because we are about to have twelve weeks vacation, the school needs to have only four days this week, and one of them a half day.
In one week and one day, the boys and I will be taking off for Spain. Because of reasons, the mister will be joining us after all, arriving sometime in early July (numbers, they just falls out of my collwobbles as soon as theys is entering them). It is awesome that he will be coming, though the reasons, they be not ace. (Sorry, we’re reading the BFG – yes, again – and none of us is talking like we shouldn’t. The BFG is so farwhopping, don’t you think? If you haven’t read it, you must, even if you not be havings chilluns, only you must be readings it out loud).
Then, the mister will come back here, and I will somehow find my way through Europe with my boys and get us to Edinburgh, whereats I will be performing my show in the Edinburgh Fringe. This thought, she is keeping me awake.
The mister will arrive just in time to watch my tech rehearsal (whatever that might be – what the fuck am I doing, I don’t know anything about this, all I know is words, whatever made me think I should be doing this, whose idea was this anyway), tell me I’m brilliant, and supervise children while they hand out flyers on the Royal Mile telling everyone to come to their mother’s show.
Life, she be fogwhollopping. Left or right?