After being sent home from work yesterday with a bad throat, I’m feeling very sorry for myself. I’ve also discovered that with this blogging lark I now have far too much to read online and I will seriously become a computer chair potato trying to read, catch up with my competitions and Facebook. I can’t go the gym feeling like this because my legs are all wobbly but yesterday was a 100% slimming world day and I hope today will be too as long as hubby doesn’t come home with cake as I’m not sure I have the willpower. Even though I can barely swallow I still insist of squeezing food down wincing in pain with some kind of masochistic pleasure.
I’ve let my competitions slide for the last couple of weeks but having won a couple it’s reignited my interest. The theory is I’ll win everyone’s Christmas presents. So far I’ve won tickets to a gig we couldn’t go to, a meat hamper (which wouldn’t keep to Christmas and as useful as it is my mum would never forgive me if I gave her meat for Christmas), snoring spray (if it works it could save my marriage because poor hubby is banished to the sofa due to medication related snoring….it sounds cruel but he sounds like a warthog!), some Harry Potter bits which will actually be used for Christmas, and some film merchandise of a film I’ve never heard of but the canvas bag was useful.
What it all comes down to is avoiding things that I really need to do. This would be a good time to write my novel but once the nine year is at school I have to extract the toddler from dangling nappy-less off the desk corner before he destroys any chance of me having grandchildren. Then try to control his crazy curly hair with a hair brush as he screams “mean mummy” at me and brush his teeth. His dad usually gets him ready and I wonder if he ever remembers to brush his teeth. When I ask he’s always about to, but he has the same look on his face as when I caught adding extra oil into the actifry and it was my fault because I made him jump and the oil “spilled” in. I might just be being uncharitable but my mummy’s intuition is telling me otherwise. So I tell myself I’m far too busy to write but I have time to write this. I suppose at least I’m writing. Somebody I know recently told me they were writing a novel. I promised I’d read it and give feedback. But deep down there was that righteous indignation. That was my dream and she stole it, damn her. I told her that’s what I wanted to do if I wasn’t working last year. Then a few months down the line she’s following my dream. It felt like that moment when you find out your best friend stole your baby name….for their actual baby..the name you was going to name your baby when you finally get round to having one in maybe a few years. Because although technically you don’t own the name, its YOUR name and this was MY dream….for at some point in a few years when I get round to actually writing a word. I will do when I get the right laptop or maybe a tablet with one of those cute clip on keyboards and an office in my house with a walnut desk and book shelves…..then and only then I’ll be ready. Maybe.
Currently I still have 100’s of competitions to enter while watching my crazy haired toddler destroy the tivo box and put series links on for lots of random programme’s. I already feel guilty for being ill so he’s missed story time and he obviously destroying things through lack of stimulus (nothing to do with me being too lazy/ill to get out of the chair and sort him out). We did have a brief game of putting random items in a box to surprise each other, mainly the crocodile who’d then try to eat me. I felt for a few brief seconds like an old school uber mummy until he got bored and abandoned me for angry birds.
The curls of doom, that stop me from writing my novel.
Off My Broomstick 