It's Thursday, the longest day of the week as I normally do three jobs. Perhaps it's exhaustion or something hormonal but today stunk. It's job three right now, which should be fairly easy as long as the cough doesn't wake her. I have eaten cold tinned ravioli (shut up, it's a delicacy) and am enjoying the occasionally punctuated silence.
I nearly fell asleep at work twice today. The first time was in the after-lunch hour with The Boy, when he asked me to name repeatedly several farm vehicles in a book. A milk-tanker is still a milk-tanker, even the sixteenth time. It seems wrong to be so utterly bored, because he's a sweet boy.
And then with The Girls this afternoon. I think I covered it well and made it look like I was thinking. It was, however, the last moment of peace, as they were both on demonic form today.
I asked before - is it ok, if this is all? I think the answer is no. The bored arrid despair that makes you feel like slitting a wrist with the edge of an Usborne book. The Caligula-like behaviour (not mine; I'm more of a Claudius). The pooh, the pooh, oh god the pooh. I need some adult words in my head. And not like that.