Morning Pages

Welcome once again to my morning pages: the occasional, unedited spilling of my morning mind on to the screen. Approximately seven hundred and fifty words of stream of consciousness, transparent writing inspired by Julia Cameron. So you can dig a little deeper in my head.
I have reached new heights of laziness. Last night I lay tangled in my duvet and truly wished I could turn the virtual pages of my kindle by merely blinking. Hell yeah: I couldn’t face the goosefleshy palava of pulling my arm out of the snuggly warmth to swipe the page.
In the next room Finley was singing quietly. Lately, unable to sleep himself, he has become my midnight chorus: his little voice tinkling away, occasionally making himself giggle and occasionally making me want to run in to his room and stab him in the head. That isn’t the kind of thing good Mothers think is it? Would a good mother run and get her her guitar to provide musical accompaniment to his warbling? Would a good Mother be there with warm milk to soothe his voice when he finally stops for breath? Or would a really good Mother wander, in her voluminous, not very sexy at all, fleecy robe, into his room and gag him so that they could both be assured of a decent nights rest and the morning would not be threatened by the trauma of trying to force a pre-teen little monkey out of his bed and in to school?
Life is abundant with dilemmas. Most of me says that if he needs to let out a note or two then who am I to stifle him? But recently I have come to understand that my way of thinking isn’t quite the same as other peoples: where they see black or white, I see a rainbow of reasons, excuses and possibilities. But having a rainbow head doesn’t necessarily serve a person and well and perhaps life is easier if you can think in terms of what’s right and what’s wrong and leave the matter at that. Thus forcing upon me, the notion that a child singing all by himself in the small hours, probably isn’t the done thing.
Darn it. If I can’t swipe the page of my kindle because my arm gets cold, how in the name of heaven am I going to throw my whole naked self out of bed, to grab a robe and go do middle of the night battle with a child quietly amusing himself with a song?
If only my mind wasn’t so fully occupied by recipes for ginger cake and how to amuse myself on a Friday when I cannot go shopping with my Mum. If only I didn’t spend many an hour with my head buried in a books, or staring at my mobile or drawing squiggles on the margins of the magazines I flick through when I am talking on the phone. If only I wasn’t so eager to fill my head with bundles of trivia merely in order to keep on surviving!
People are broken aren’t they? Each in their own individual way.  
Today I am shopping for daffodils and new knickers and a mop head. I am eating roast chicken and lighting candles and herding domestic animals around the house and squeaking because once again I have said too much and lost my voice in shock.
It is Friday. I don’t know what to do with myself on Fridays. Oh how I miss her. 

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