There isn’t really a wrong side of the bed for me.
I love every square centimetre of it. I quite adore having it to myself every night.
I don’t feel sad about there not being a husband on my right.
I can toss and turn and cough and get up to wee as much as I like without worrying about bothering anyone.
But I woke up yesterday at the ungodly hour of 5.15am and things weren’t quite right.
I was stressed about presenting my first communications plan at work today, so that fizzed and swirled in my head until 6.30am when I finally crawled out from under the covers.
My Sunday morning gym class didn’t soothe my frazzle like it normally does.
My ex arrived to collect the kids and the youngest kept saying to him: “Are we seeing SSF today? Why not? I want to see SSF today! Can we go to her place? Can she come to our place? Why not? I want to see her!”
Cue fake, unbothered smile.
Then I did a bit of housework, which always gives me the shites.
As an avoidance tactic, I checked my Facebook feed and stumbled across an article by the divine Angela Mollard confessing “the strangest thing has happened: I suddenly love housework.”
Angela has been worried she’s betraying the sisterhood because “I enjoy the 10 minutes it takes to sweep the kitchen and dining room floors. Swish, swish, swish goes the brush, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze go my biceps, and as a few scraps of toast become a decent mound of dust, stray rice grains, carelessly spilt cinnamon and the occasional hairband, I feel deeply content. In a world of ever-growing ‘to do’ lists that are never actually ‘done’, a swept floor or a pile of clean washing or a sparkling oven feels like a genuine accomplishment.
“I suspected admitting my newfound joy to friends would prompt cries of derision and a firm scolding that I was betraying the hard-won battles of the sisterhood. But it turns out they’re equally becalmed by small domestic achievements. Indeed, laundry makes them almost delirious. ‘The sight of three lines flapping makes me feel like I’m in control,’ says one. ‘Love pegging clean clothes on the line and taking them off all crisp and clean,’ says another. ‘Freshly-washed linen is a heady drug,’ says a third who can be forgiven her enthusiasm since she’s a new mum.”
Fark no, not me. Never ever. And not because of the sisterhood. My fantasy is a full-time cleaner who comes to my house every day and does all those drearily domestic things so I can write and go to the gym and hang with the kids and my boyfriend in pristine splendour.
To top things off, DD sent a glorious photograph with the caption “current location.”
I’d been hoping we’d go kayaking together yesterday … but he went on his own. Sad face.
He was busy for the rest of the day, enjoying some much needed quality time with his kids. I was thrilled for him because he doesn’t get to do that very often … but I also really missed him.
I tried to keep myself busy by going the grocery shopping, but I just sloped around the aisles feeling sorry for myself and drinking warm sugar-free V from the shelf. I even cancelled going out for dinner with friends – I just didn’t feel up to the whole family night out thing when I didn’t have mine.
I had a little pity weep at the computer when I got home from the supermarket, as I fretted over my communications plan.
Then I poured myself a hot bath and slid in for a soak, as a scented candle flickered and the rain pelting down outside.
And the misery eased.
(NB I may also have virulent PMT.)
A few friends called and texted and I’m pretty powerless in the face of human interaction, so I climbed back out of the bath, took a deep breath and GOT ON WITH IT.
Oh … I also put on a piece of pork belly to slow-roast. My usual go-to when I’m miserable is curry, but I was out of curry paste and the weather was too atrocious for a trip to the shops so I figured that the luscious, fatty Jamie Oliver piece of pork in my fridge and some veggies were an excellent second option.
I also put a Mexican beef concoction with adobo chipotles in the slow-cooker because I find cooking quite soothing when I’m discombobulated.
I may have over-catered just slightly considering it’s just me for dinner tonight, I’m out Wednesday and I have one kid at band camp …
Now excuse me while I go and pop another evening primrose oil capsule.
How do you get yourself back on track when you’re a bit miz?
Song of the day: Police “Bed’s too big”