I really want to update you, honestly I do, I just have nothing to say. So here I sit listening to the Tudors Soundtrack staring at a blank screen.

Ah feck it, here goes.

A few weeks ago someone in work told me that for every bad day there would be good days. I laughed and said I can’t remember the last time there was a good day, but as things went, last week was not so bad. Perhaps my new regime of making myself go to bed at a relatively reasonable time was helping, or perhaps I am so far past the end of my tether that I actually just don’t care anymore.

I went in on Saturday and worked for 7 hours straight. When I left there were still things to do, but you know how it is, the Ships have to be fed. It made a wonky weekend being off Sunday and Monday as opposed to Saturday and Sunday, but it was beneficial.

When I arrived home on Saturday night I walked into a complete and utter nightmare. The Mothership seemed to think it was fun to pull everything out of the cupboards and place it in little piles all over any available surface in the living room, the Fathership was already under fire as he had asked her if she was going to tidy it up and I walked in and felt like crying. I cannot stress enough how much it irritates me that I spend at least 4 hours cleaning on a normal Saturday for it only to last half a day, if even. It’s such a waste of time. I don’t want someone to come and visit, look at the mess and think feck that big girl doesn’t do much to help out. Trust me, that’s going to get them a knee in the knackers followed by me screaming ‘give me a break I do pretty much fucking everything!!’

The final straw came on Sunday, while I was running round cleaning, yet again! Now bear in mind that at this stage the living room still looks like a bomb has gone off, so the Mothership proceeds to move to the room next door and tip everything out in there too. I was on to my second load of washing at this stage and owing to the fact that it was raining a whole zoo never mind cats and dogs, I had brought the clothes in and left them on a chair to be placed onto the clothes horse. I left them for two seconds to go and turn on the dinner and came back to find the Mothership trailing the clean clothes across the floor. It was right about then that the top of my head blew off and steam exited at a rather quick pace from my ears, in fact I looked pretty much something like this:

I get that she was trying to help, but in the name of good fuck could she not tidy the two days worth of mess up instead of sticking an oar in where it’s not needed. I basically said as much too, and then went into the kitchen and broke down. There are people who will judge me, but do you know what, walk a week in my shoes and then see how you feel. Only those who have ever actually had to care for someone could ever understand. I know it’s not her fault and trust me, guilt eats at me, but I am a women fast approaching the menopause with hormonal homicidal tendencies, working full time, looking after two adults, once of whom is getting on like a sullen teenager. No one said it was going to be easy, and given a choice, it’s certainly not something you would sign up for. Right now though I would settle for a tidy house.

That said, tomorrow is another day, just a shame I’m back at work!

Halfway through this post I switched from listening to the Tudors Sountrack to The Penguin Cafe Orchestra. Awesome. Highly recommended for giving the heart a helping hand.

Till next time eejits :)