morning head: Tuesday, 14th July, 2015

It’s practically silent. Even the sound of construction outside, usually a grinding addition to the cacophony inside, seems remote. The house is cold; clean and empty; I’m standing in the middle of it in a trance-like state wondering what the fuck to do now?

One step at a time they reckon: one paragraph, one workout, one day without smoking crack. Sound advice, and easy to follow when there’s someone else relying on you for absolutely everything. Let’s face it, when you’re in charge of an infant, it’s impossible not to follow.

I’m hungry, feed me; I’m not hungry, get that fucking spoon out of my face; bring me a different toy; stop stacking the blocks; I just shat myself; hey where did my block stack go?; fuck this crawling business, carry me; I just shat myself; put me down…

It’s life in the moment and moments are all there are. Take the quickest thing on the to-do list, the list that started with ten things and now fills a small mole-skin, three random scraps of paper and half the internal storage on your phone, and try to sneak it in while the ADHD Dictator is distracted by the spin cycle of the washing machine.

And then all of a sudden you have the house to yourself, and once you get over the shock, you realise you don’t know how to do quiet and space and time anymore, and your to-do list was apparently written during a recent crack-binge:

  • Empty bike
  • Sort Jackson in shed
  • Post kitchen on Gumtree
  • Dismantle yard

Morning, Twelve-Steppers.