I’ve probably posted the Pablo Neruda poem Sonnet XVII before but I still love it and as such that is the reason for the title.
I still feel like I’m going through a phase of being very busy. When I do stop it’s to eat or sleep. I managed to get some writing done, though, which is good.
Feeling tired and distant today. I’m having trouble getting to sleep properly on a night leaving me maybe three hours sleep a night, which certainly isn’t ideal. My second eldest brother and his wife came over for the last time yesterday.
They’re emigrating to New Zealand to start a new life together there. They spent the day here and then we drove them to where they’re staying later on. For a change, there were no arguments and my brother didn’t make as many digs as usual.
As I’ve said, I feel distant and distracted today so this post may not be entirely all there.
Technically, this is my second week back at work but, as the first week started on a Wednesday, I’m still counting it as my first week back. And what a tiring first week back it’s been. I forgot just what an exhausting job it is.
I know it’s not for long in the morning and the evening, but you cram an awful lot of exercise into that time and you have to concentrate really hard while you’re doing it (plus there’s my 40 min walk to and from work twice a day). There are also a lot more kids and parents now. Or so it seems. And a lot of the kids have switched from the infant schools to the juniors, or the juniors to the secondary or have left the secondary. Some of them have just started the infants too or they’re going to nursery with their parents.
Apparently, being imaginative and creative makes me a waste of space according to my second eldest brother. Apparently, it makes me worth absolutely nothing. This was what I was told yesterday. he couldn’t have picked a better day to have a go at me. It’s nice to know that basically everything I am and everything I aspire to be is absolutely worthless. I should give him a nickname so that I can refer to him better as I have three brothers. We’ll call this one Mr God Complex…
Continue reading “In Our House Made Of Paper, Your Words All Over Me”
