This is Not a Love Song

… except of course I can’t, at least until about 5pm. There’s just too much shoved into the day: a scheduled PT (I AM OUTDOORS) followed almost immediately by dentistry to fix a problem that, if I don’t, is likely to ruin me when least convenient. After many years, future-proofing has become a Thing. Yes, being a grown up is indeed possible.

After that it’s a pile from one place to another to pick up the youngest (via shopping) and then, only possibly, will there be kippage. By that point, of course, it will be sensible to stay upright until bedtime, and that’s the best means by which we do the day. I am reminded of the past when this was every day and I was a good stone heavier and considerably less physically active…


Looking at the Instagram generation making their lives appear a bazillion times more organised than I ever managed, it’s a reminder that image is a clever cover. Even those people who take pictures of exhausted faces and saggy bodies possess a foresight to record memories that has been completely lost from my subconscious. I see pictures from both kids’ toddler days and don’t remember them being taken.

In fact, large portions of their early lives simply does not exist in my subconscious: memory was dispensed with in order to just make it through to bedtime so I could start again. This is not a complaint either, but simply statement of fact. I threw heart and soul into their upbringing, and only now realise just what that meant at the time. There’s immense pride at my kids’ achievements, however. It was worth all the bad.


If I had balls, some days it would have been like this. However now there is a luxury to be able to not worry or bother over exactly how stuff happens, just as long as it does, and in 95% of cases that is exactly the end result. It might take a while but outcomes represent acceptable progression, plus satisfaction derived from this forward motion is no less significant. I require more sleep to function correctly than any of my family who seem capable of surviving on very little…

…but I know they’re lying. Like me, they’re afraid that summat important might get missed if they’re having a sneaky kip. My son, right now is the exception: after a lads holiday and a weekend at Wireless, I doubt he’ll emerge from his room until Wednesday. Things like that were never enjoyable for me because of the lack of sleep. Maybe that’s been the problem all along.

On reflection, this is a fine way to be made.

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