I am thinking about Virginia Woolf and the need, no the necessity, to have a little space that is one's own just to be.
The children have been ultra demanding, ultra clingy, big hormonal mess versus little tasmanian devil tantrums. Sitting back I ask, does this have something to do with new man in mama's life? You think?
Of course, it also has to do with limited contact with papa these days. His job is keeping him in Canberra and they are missing the contact. And it's getting wintery with darker evenings and the house is enclosing us and the lack of space and, and...
And I need to make a space for me, to read, to write, to be.
Still, there's a long weekend in a couple of weeks and when I have finished this big piece of work I plan to take a week off.
What else is new chez anyresemblance. Hmm, went to work dinner at ultra fancy restaurant where I felt the pressure of being with work people I was not comfortable with and drank way too much. I felt shocking the next day and now have a fearful cold which is a reminder that alcohol zaps your immune system.
The weekend was busy what with school sport and whatever. Sunday was a chilling out day with movies and chocolate biscuits. I made brownies and minestrone soup and roasted a chicken. My younger daughter lay in bed last night reading The Little House in the Big Woods out loud and it made me feel cosy and warm even in this house that I do not love. I think I am feeling bad since my ex has taken over my beautiful old house and polished the floors and it looks so excellent that it makes me jealous which is stupid because I wanted this move. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to be still married and living that scene. Pay me no mind, I am just melancholy.
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