I’m tired. So tired in fact that if the Mothership asks me what the trousers I have left out are for one more time, I might possibly use them to strangle her. Not her fault I know, but she is part of the reason why I am so tired.
I resolved the weekend before last that it would be the final one I worked, but somehow I still found myself in on Saturday. I’m doing 9 hour days and throwing an extra one in at the weekend too and it’s not making a dent on the mountain of things that need done. I really wish I was the kind of person who could just say ‘fuck it’ and dander off.
I’m not sleeping either and that sucks. It’s like I have this little voice in my head going ‘hey you, yes you, it’s been an hour since you last looked at the clock……WAKE UP!’ and damn it I comply. When I do finally manage to fall over to sleep one of two things happen, either the alarm goes off and it’s time to get up for work, or the Mothership wakes me with her screaming at the Fathership. She can never understand why I bark like a dog whose just been stung like a bee, but ffs I just woke up thinking someone’s being murdered, not having their bloody hands washed.
Go to work. Drink coffee. Work……really need a power nap, but there’s no time…..work.
By the time I travel home, stand on trains, stand while waiting for trains, stand while making the dinner and doing the dishes my poor knees feel like they can no longer hold my weight and I can’t wait to collapse into a chair, and then I remember I need to leave out the tablets for tomorrow, wash spuds for tomorrow nights dinner and put on a load of washing, because lets face it if the Motherships ration of knickers falls below 15 you would think the world was going to end.
Back up the stairs, clothes laid out for work, and then a quick shower and finally I get to sit down, god bless my recliner. The feeling of my feet being lifted off the floor is almost orgasmic and as I settle back to enjoy my 15 minutes of freedom I hear the pitter patter of tiny feet up the corridor.
FUCK!! is what I think, but I don’t voice it, I surprise myself sometimes with how calm I am. There’s no privacy in this house. I’m trying to write a post, maybe read a blog.
Then proceeds a 15 minute to and fro about which nightdress she will wear. When that’s settled, there will be perhaps another 5 trips into my room to confirm the decision that we made not five minutes before.
I don’t attempt to sit down again, there is no point. I just stand and wait.
10 minutes later there is the pitter patter of feet up the corridor once again and it’s time to do the teeth. It’ll take a good five minutes to convince her to give me the gnashers in the first place. Then I have to brush the ones that still remain in place, before confirming at least 10 times that the others are safe in the cup for the night and will be there in the morning.
Finally she goes to put the nightdress on. This whole process from start to finish can take about an hour, and meanwhile time is ticking away and my dreams of an early night are shattered.
I used to hate getting into bed before 12.30 am, it felt like such a waste of a night, now I love my bed, I can’t wait to crawl into it. My legs love me when I lie down.
I was so tired…………..but now I’m wide awake.
Dementia…..if you didn’t laugh you’d cry!