08:15, the house is quiet; son is at school, daughter has gone to a Sixth Form induction day at the same school, husband is at work: washing machine making random swishing noises in the background. The street is eerily still after the usual commotion of people driving to work, hurrying to the train station, and children walking to school. The world seems to have stopped, waiting for me to decide the next step.

Things I should attend to:

1. Tidy the dining room table, which is constantly used as a dumping ground for school bags, paperwork, books, computers, and dishes which could reach the sink if only the dumpee would walk another five paces. This list is by no means exhaustive.

2. Dust, polish, hoover the whole house.

3. Give the kitchen a spring clean.

4. Thoroughly sort out the ‘toot’ I’ve stored in the eves. Things I’ve kept for the memory box, which doesn’t exist because it would have to be as large as a box room to fit everything in it. Why do we hold on to ‘stuff’?

5. Ironing. The pile of crumpled clothes now outweighs those in the wardrobe.

6. Clean the bathrooms. I hate that job the most.

Things I might do if I can find a way through this mind fog:

Number 1. I have to walk past the dining room table to reach the kitchen, so that’ll probably get some attention, begrudgingly.

Since returning from Budapest, my mood has dipped considerably. I’ve had a headache for three days and I’m so very tired, I’m at that stage where you can feel the downward pull and can’t find anything to grab onto. It’s not that I want to slide, it just seems to creep up on you. Maybe it’s due to my reduced antidepressants? Maybe it’s being home again and adjusting back to the humdrum? Who knows?

The washing machine is bleeping; at least it is capable of starting a job and completing it within a reasonable time, I’d better go and hang the washing out to dry.

 

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