It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that when your child says they need to tell you something “but you can’t get mad” … you will want to get mad.
Or at least feel like shouting “FFS!”
My heart sank when the eldest uttered the immortal words to me on Friday morning. And it sank much further when I heard what I wasn’t allowed to get mad about.
However, in the immortal words of Ronan Keating: “life is a roller coaster [with the eldest] you’ve just got to ride it” … and hope it doesn’t become a Dreamworld-like disaster.
I think we avoided disaster on Friday and, a couple of hours later, something frustratingly wonderful happened during the eldest’s high school graduation.
Have I mentioned you should never buy a computer with the hard drive in the screen rather than in a separate box? Add an HP All-In-One to the lemons I have purchased in recent years, alongside my shite box of a Renault.
My HP is soooooo slow. Coupled with the disaster called NBN, I feel like I’m living in the 90s every time I try and use it.
The eldest’s high school graduation was virtually impossible to watch on Microsoft Teams. I gave up and started doing some freelance work while the event glitched and stalled in the background.
Then I heard my child’s name called out and I had NO idea what for.
After many hours I finally established the eldest got an award for excellence in Design Fundamentals. How cool is that?
I’m also very disappointed the eldest isn’t going to art school.
I’m not entirely sure what the eldest IS doing after the HSC. The eldest is a mystery and a wonder to me … and is never home now lockdown is over.
Speaking of wonder, isn’t this picture of Freshwater Beach last Thursday night amazing?
The youngest and I were at Freshie during the day and she got a weird blue blob on her skin that stung slightly. It must have been one of the bits of phosphorescent algae that caused this effect in the surf.
Oh how I’d have loved to see that beautiful glow in real life.
On the subject of mysteries … I’m wondering (yet again) whether blogging is dead. Clicks have stalled – not that I’m too wrapped up in that these days, I have other Google Analytics highs to chase. I write at HouseGoesHome for the love of it, not the glory.
This isn’t a desperate plea for all my loyal followers to send outpourings of love. I know I have a core of people who enjoy reading my ramblings each day.
I’m just curious as to whether people no longer have enough time – or inclination – to read someone else’s witterings every day.
HouseGoesHome is 10 years old, which is 70 in dog years. Is it time to retire it? Mrs Woog hasn’t blogged since September 1. Pinky Poinker has been off air since August.
Are there any bloggers left out there?
I meander down this path a couple of times a year, pondering the blog’s future. How do I decide when it’s time to go? I’m hopeless at it. I always stay far too long in awful workplaces as well, despite the universe urging me to leave the bad juju behind.
I suppose the key is to keep writing while you still enjoy it.
The blog has become so intrinsically entwined with my rebirth as a person, as I open up my heart to the world. And it’s there for me when I need to talk things out.
It’s my open diary and maybe one day I’ll know it’s time to close it.
One thing I do know – and a lesson I’ve learned from COVID-19 – is as Neil Finn sings below: “Love this life. Don’t wait till the next one comes.”
And for now, part of my love of this life is sharing its ups and downs with you.
Song of the day: Neil Finn “Love this life”