I’m absolutely fine.
I’m still doing the laundry, still using my hand as a duster round the visible ornaments.
Still pushing the vacuum half-heartedly through the pathway from my front door to my kitchen.
Whilst languishing on my sofa (the cottage is that small, honestly).
It’s the relapse trick – look useful and, ok, you’re … fine.
Which I am.
After work today I had my wonderful friend and her two children over for coffee. We are Uni mates and needed to catch up before the new term.
She greeted me with, ‘Wow! You look fab!!!’
Which is lovely. I had made An Effort. I even dug out the duty-free Clairol lippie I’d bought on a scary whim after being ganged up on by four beauty consultants in Dover. I had scrunched my hair into a random bob. I dressed in loose clothing and slouched in what I though was an effortless, writerish sort of way.
I really do think relapses are an exercise in deception.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure if you have a partner/husband/wife, they will soothe your brow and take over. Not in my case. I sneak and deceive.
I rummage plates and bowls, clinking them together. I sigh loudly as I change a toilet roll yet again. I rustle the recycling. Loudly. Anything to be visible. ‘Look, I’m doing something.’ I really don’t want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. Honestly.
I clank and bang around the house, an orchestra of a relapse.
In amongst it all, I just want to lie down. My sofa calls me. My bed calls me. I could lie down. I really, really could lie down. But I can’t. So I noisily chop and de-seed red peppers (actually quite difficult), and cry over the onions. I bang the tray into the oven.
I’m still here. I’m in the kitchen and I’m doing something.
Then The Teenager tells me he’s spending the evening camping with friends and can he have a fiver for the curry?
I supervise his packing. I stop him stuffing two of his brand new feather pillows into his rucksack. I tuck some money in and wave goodbye after a shower of Lynx and, well, more Lynx.
I got away with it. For now.
And. I can go to bed early.
Damn straight a fantastic result, FOR ALL involved!! 😀 well done you! 😀
And it was great to get to bed early without worrying about anything 🙂
now you can use the pillows he was going to take 😉
and dinner is ready for tomorrow so more sleeping time 😉
hmm not sure if I would call it deceiving, more like adapting to the situation
Good point! It just feels a little sneaky at times 🙁 I guess it’s all about not wanting to worry The Teenager.
Very exhausting in its own right!!
I can identify with your post and its no mean thing sorting out the recycling bin.. not just a rustle here and there …surely. I once heard a colleague mention that when he was visiting his sister in Australia it was a major decision which bin to use!
Jonathan Porritt…………….I’m still getting around to reading his book,
Totally with you. Thank goodness I seem to be on the mend!!
Oh yes I can smell it now – the Lynx cloud! When I return to the house I can tell instantly if my 18 yr old son has left it within the last hour. I have tried to warn him off all spray smellies I dread to think what he is ingesting day after day. He says his his hair and aroma are of utmost importance and out of my jurisdiction!
Yup, that Lynx cloud! It infuses the house, lol.
I worry too, but as you say, it goes in one ear and out the other!