Morning Musings

Just a quick bit of free writing that I had stored on my drive. I wrote it one morning last year. The piece is somewhat prophetic. I did have to protect my children and flee the marital home in Jan

She sits at her laptop attempting to open the gates of creativity but as each finger taps its pleasant melody on the keyboard, the art being produced isn’t really art at all, it’s blunt - it’s nothing.  There is no pizazz.  The creative has left her - it’s fallen into the abyss of logic and reasoning.

She wants to let it out.  She can feel it all there, behind her eyes, pushing, screaming please allow me, please let me spill onto the page.  But alas, today, it is not to be.

Clare woke up in the dullest of moods this morning.  Scraped from her dreamless state by her husband.  “Please can you come and watch the kids while I go and get my hair cut?”  This isn’t usually a problem.  Over the last week or so Clare has breezed from her slumber, bounced out of bed, wanting to take on the muscle of the world.  But not today.  For no good reason at all really.  The usual anxiety that had invaded her for months previously,  had been settled during her time in Austria, now it appears to be seeping back into her conscious mind.  She is trying to restrain the badness and forge a river of positivity, but the negativity is too strong.  She just feels like crying at the moment.

Could this blackness be protruding due to the thoughts of being stuck with the kids whilst her hubby returns to work?  Clare can’t quite put her finger on it.  Most parents, whether they care to admit it or not, hate the Summer holidays.  The continuous train of days, where the children expect you to empty your minuscule bank account  to entertain them. Forget spending the money on feeding their bellies.

After two cups of coffee, she returns to the tap tippity tapping of her writing whilst two fat black flies fight each other around her head.  “Where is that f*****g cat when you need him?”  This is what’s to come when he leaves for work on Friday morning.  But the fat black flies won’t be fighting, it will be the kids.  Why did she have children?  She loves her children - a cold sweat will cover her skin if any of them become dangerously threatened.  She will raise up on her hind legs and slash, if anyone dare to endanger her babies, but she feels herself to be unqualified to parent.  To her, her children, appear to dislike her, or not see her as a human at least.  They see her as an alien of sorts - void of emotion and warmth that apparently required by mothers according to these stupid teeny bop programs on the television.  Mummy is supposed to bake warm comforting cakes, and provide a large bosom at any time - her breasts are ample, but she doesn’t want kids claiming them at any given time.  She wants to be free.