Hitting the wall (and pissing money up against it)

It’s not so much a wall as a block.

Some days the blog posts don’t flow as easily because nothing particularly noteworthy or funny or emotive happens.

That was yesterday.

I woke early, pottered around my silent house, chucked the dogs into the backyard for the day and grabbed a coffee as I walked to work. It was relaxed and mundane … with a hint of sadness that the kids weren’t there … But not really a post.

My new boss bought everyone Mamak chicken curry and roti for lunch, which was rather nice of her … And yummy … But not really a post.

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After work, I spent my day’s pay on a pair of snazzy sport shoes for the youngest. Confronting … but not really a post.

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She’s been suffering ankle pain in the lead up to the National Skipping Championships. So we talked to a top bloke called Benny at The Athlete’s Foot who noted that she has curved Achilles’ tendons and sagging arches and got her into a pair of ASIC gel shoes with arch-support inserts.

Then I collected the eldest from art class and got to work making sausages and wedges for dinner, before slumping on the couch to watch Masterchef and Britain’s Got Talent (having a quiet weep into my chardy over the boy who was bullied and called “gay” for wanting to dance), cleaning up the kitchen and making school lunches. Single-mum exhausting … But not really a post.

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As I sat on the couch, I wondered if there was anything bothering me on an emotional level. I contemplated bitching about how much it sucks not being able to cuddle your children three nights a week because you have to share their care with your goddamn husband who left you. That’s been bugging me a bit lately. But I’ve been a bit of a broken record, whining about stuff like that, even though it still really hurts.

There’s no DD in my week because he’s single dadding while his ex is away. No time to rendevous at the beach when there are three kids to get to school … though he’s been sending me envy-inducing pics of the sea as he picks up his morning coffee.

That means I’m left with a Seinfeld-esque post about nothing … and so are you … sorry …

Better luck tomorrow, after I spend another day’s pay (almost) on getting my hair coloured.

Living in la-la land, I am.

Ah well, my lottery ticket is bound to be pulled out of the barrel soon. Glass half full and all that.

How about you? Are you the half-full or half-empty type

Song of the day: Howard Jones “No one is to blame”

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