Days Without End
Each day seems to be running into the next at the moment. While occasionally I have long train journey adventures to recount, or distant hotels to document life within, my present predicament more closely resembles a hamster wheel. I get up in the morning, make breakfasts and lunches, chase the children endlessly, trudge to work on the bike, head-butt the desk for seven hours or so, and then trudge home again to begin chasing the children, and washing up once more. I fall in front of the computer or the television as darkness falls, and before I know it the next day arrives, like some enormous ground-hog machine.
I'm tired. Tired when I get up, and tired when I go to bed. Most of the reason for the tiredness is the seven hours of keyboard thumping antics I never write about. Running flat out all day, and thinking on your feet during every waking moment wears you down eventually. You grow tired of putting fires out, placating little people, and juggling impossible odds.
I can hear a dog's squeaky toy. It must be next door. I wish we had a dog, but we both work full timeit wouldn't be fair. My other half hates dogs too, so I guess that puts an end to that daydream. While it's tempting to say “I grew up with dogs”, that conjurs pictures of Mowgli and Balooperhaps “my parents had pet dogs when I was young” would be more accurate. I think if I did ever get a dog, it would be a black labradorthey are just the right balance of friendly and stupid. I can't ever imagine having a “little” dog (by little, I mean anything that looks like you could kick over rugby posts fairly easily).
I'm rambling. I have several small children to start the bedtime war with. It will escalate within half an hour to imagined injuries, fights over toothpaste, and deliberate sabotage of story time. It's become a routine of sorts. Maybe I should have a ships bell at the foot of the stairs to commence hostilities.