Swings and roundabouts. These are the images of taking life as it comes. Thoughts of sunny skies and happy childish squeals cutting the breeze. And a cracked jaw as the swing hits you in the fizz and the roundabout drags you around the concrete by your Bay City Rollers scarf.
There is something wrong with me. I know. I've read all those books. 'Hey you! Turn that frown upside down!' I know all that. I do. I know everything actually. Ask Mr GPants and he'll tell you I respond to everything he says with 'I know.' It doesn't mean a damn thing knowing stuff. I know biscuits aren't an appropriate start to the day. I know going to bed like a normal person is good for you. I know the bin needs emptying. I know noone's reading this crap. You see - it doesn't make a peck of difference. I will still persist in being a fuckwit because I always have and I simply always will. And so is everybody else. Oh yes you all are. In our own little ways we are all agonizingly stupid.
We should just go with the flow. I don't 'get' why clever is good. Stupid is comforting. And repeating your mistakes - how fantastic. We should celebrate this. If I'm good at something then I want to do it again. And I'm really good at fucking things up. So I do it over and over, and now I'm brilliant at it. Just ask my family about dinner. Or lunch. Or anything that makes it onto a dirty plate in this house. Always crap. But there I am again a couple of hours later. Incinerating something or dropping it down the sink and scraping it up again....... You see - positive thoughts. I'm not crap at cooking - I'm fabulous at being crap.
And, my badness me, I am really crap at keeping a clean house. And I'm a really really crap parent. AND I'm off the scale crap at wifey stuff. And I take full pride in all this. I know one shouldn't boast but .... I just can't help myself. I am just THE crappest in the whole world and I just have to shout it from the highest hills. I am the Doris Day of Crap.
But lately, I've let myself go. Avert your eyes you sensitive types. (Actually, any sensitive types can simply fuck off - I hate sensitive types.) I PROMISE this is the last time I mention clearing things out or hoovering ever again but I cleared out and hoovered and dettolled and Febreezed the ....CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS. Now THAT, in my temporary madness, I thought is dedication to duty. That, I smiled, is laying the ghost of being a bad housekeeper to rest. THAT earns me enough Brownie points in Self-Worth Land to sashay into the sweetie tin with big-time pink tenty abandonment, I declared. THAT now means I can do MAH THANG!!!!
I truly believed!
And then............ splinky plinky pellets of reality pierce my skull ........ do I have to keep this shit up forever?
Oh - I made the mistake of opening my eyes again after half a dozen thank-you-Nanny Quality Street hits. The sugar held me aloft for only 4 minutes. The scales fell from my spiralling eyes. Behold - The Living Room.
The Living Room. It's had small things in it. While I was scooping out mouse weed-on rusted implements from the C-u-t-Stairs, THEY were doing diabolical things in my had-already-been-attacked-with-squirty-and sucky-things lovely Living Room. And now standing there with tears simmering, I could hear them doing diabolical things upstairs in their bedroom. Playing with their damned toys I bet! I must stop this immediately! I must DO something! I run to the toilet to sit down. The only seat I ever take during daylight hours. I need to think. THINK woman THINK!
E-bay? Nah - noone would be that stupid to bid for them. Limb removal? Just make more mess. Shouting and swearing? Too........ everyday. Run away? Ohh - run away! Nah - I'd have to de-lollipop the car seats anyway. Lunch? Yeah.........
There's always tomorrow - by that I mean in about 20 years time.
There's comfort in that wispy thought. It crops up at odd little moments everyday. In 20 years time I can have a nice house. In 20 years time I can have a bath. I could dare to ignore the washing machine for a whole day. I might own a chip-free tea cup. I might drink a hot cup of something. I could go into ladies' shops. I may remove the nail varnish on those last 2 toes. I could listen to the whole of Jethro Tull's Thick As A Brick - just 'cos I could! I might watch the last couple of episodes of Ashes to Ashes. I could sit on a real chair before 10.30 at night. I may mend ...... things. I might finish something I've.....
AAaaaarrrgghhh! You started it! No YOU did! You fucker! No YOU fucker! It's MY dart! I found it! No I did! You fucker twat! No YOU fucker twat!........
Ahhhh the warm arms of ignoring the shit around me embrace me once more. I don't know what came over me. The very idea of trying to control my life, my surroundings, my thoughts! I don't even know how these things got in. I have no business having thoughts. Thoughts are dangerous. They lead to ideas and ideas are very bad indeed. They make you do things. Doing things is insanity.
Swings and roundabouts.
Just one thing - I never really did have a Bay City Rollers scarf - I'm not THAT fucking stupid.