Campfire Story

This is thought number 1052

It’s been a while, a while since I’ve published my thoughts.  I still set them down in straight lines, but they sit waiting for release in my draft folder.  This is thought number 1052. Everything is normal, the weekdays have gone by so quickly I am surprised its Friday tomorrow.  I am sore and tired, my body complains.  My knees, in particular, remind me I am getting older, in their weird cracked Morse code.  I ignore them, they are always nagging.  It has been a hard day, I dump my bags on the bench and head for the coffee machine, then pop two thick pieces of fruit loaf into the toaster.  My children are home, there is mess everywhere, the TV is on.  My son is on the sofa.

I feel irritated as I watch him, and then there it is, the new heavy, dark thing I need to convert into straight lines.   It pushes behind my eyes.  I do not want to cry so I shake my head.

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Campfire Stories


My son is home – a happy dance

Yay, I have just picked up four loads of washing and a boy from Auckland airport.  We knew the plane was coming in early from Perth because technology is amazing, so we smugly set our alarms to a little earlier than planned.  It was very confusing then, to be woken by my husband shouting, ‘you have three minutes, get up, get up.’

I sat in the car and wondered if I had the right pants on, I knew I had no socks on and was wearing my daughter’s coat. I yawned a lot while my husband explained that the flight was early. I looked at the neon clock on the dash, ‘yeah right, we sorted that and are on time, slow down.’

African shoes

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