Monday, June 27, 2005
One Hundred Stressed Words
There is too much in my head. I zoom in and out of thoughts, they come up close, to horrific proportions, then they fragment, dissolve and fade, replaced by urgent more disturbing thoughts this time clawing at me with sharp hooks that draw so much pain it feels like blood flows from my head. I’m reeling, my thoughts lurch from children’s lunches and picking up times to building works and plans. People talk and I can barely listen. I swing from tragedy one minute and victory the next. Our life is changing. It feels like an operation with eyes open.
Quick Before The Connection Fails
Life feels very fragile and our patchy connections to the web are a symptom of how things are now. So while the connection is holding and a computer engineer is sitting beside me here I go with a blog.
Yes we have moved. Well our boxes and builders have moved in. We have moved out and are sort of camping in a flat on the second floor of an Edwardian house about three miles away.
Strange. Transitional. Change. Turmoil. Juggling money, builders, computers, homes, children, book clubs, work, class preparation, admin, teaching, utilities, gas connections, dinners, washing, showers, security, the list seems endless.
How long can we keep going like this?
We need to be set up at home as soon as possible.
Yes we have moved. Well our boxes and builders have moved in. We have moved out and are sort of camping in a flat on the second floor of an Edwardian house about three miles away.
Strange. Transitional. Change. Turmoil. Juggling money, builders, computers, homes, children, book clubs, work, class preparation, admin, teaching, utilities, gas connections, dinners, washing, showers, security, the list seems endless.
How long can we keep going like this?
We need to be set up at home as soon as possible.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Three Hundred Words - Moving Pains
Wednesday, 15 June 2005
This is the first half hour when I got home. I’m arranging for the gas people to connect us to a gas pipe. This took ages – hanging on – listening to Vivaldi. My wife started telling me about her meeting. A knock at the door, my sister-in-law and her dog distributing presents to the children – their birthday, and a moving in present – we move on Monday – stress, and she wants to talk. My son wants to play outside. A phone call invites my daughter on holiday this summer – decision time. Another call about canoeing and lifts there and back this evening.
Tuesday, 14 June 2005
The tensions are growing. We feel we have achieved and done a lot of packing. My wife’s instinct is to relax and slow down. Mine is to work harder as the moving date approaches. I’m beginning to feel the burden of the physical work is falling onto me. My wife is going out to meetings and having long family phone conversations. I was desperate to get days off work so we could move but now I’ve decided I won’t bother. We talked about it and she seems to understand - although she’s having another one of those conversations right now.
Monday, 13 June 2005
After I dropped the children at school I drove to Richmond Park and sat on my favourite bench looking out over woods and grassland towards Ham. I sat still, back straight, eyes closed, breathed in slow, counting, breathed out slow, counting. I named and welcomed all I could hear, a sudden gust of wind in the trees, the cars on the distant ring road, the sound of a dog passing and women talking as they walked behind me. And of course the birds, crows in the oaks behind me and parakeets squabbling close by. Fifteen minutes, deep rhythm flowing, survival.
This is the first half hour when I got home. I’m arranging for the gas people to connect us to a gas pipe. This took ages – hanging on – listening to Vivaldi. My wife started telling me about her meeting. A knock at the door, my sister-in-law and her dog distributing presents to the children – their birthday, and a moving in present – we move on Monday – stress, and she wants to talk. My son wants to play outside. A phone call invites my daughter on holiday this summer – decision time. Another call about canoeing and lifts there and back this evening.
Tuesday, 14 June 2005
The tensions are growing. We feel we have achieved and done a lot of packing. My wife’s instinct is to relax and slow down. Mine is to work harder as the moving date approaches. I’m beginning to feel the burden of the physical work is falling onto me. My wife is going out to meetings and having long family phone conversations. I was desperate to get days off work so we could move but now I’ve decided I won’t bother. We talked about it and she seems to understand - although she’s having another one of those conversations right now.
Monday, 13 June 2005
After I dropped the children at school I drove to Richmond Park and sat on my favourite bench looking out over woods and grassland towards Ham. I sat still, back straight, eyes closed, breathed in slow, counting, breathed out slow, counting. I named and welcomed all I could hear, a sudden gust of wind in the trees, the cars on the distant ring road, the sound of a dog passing and women talking as they walked behind me. And of course the birds, crows in the oaks behind me and parakeets squabbling close by. Fifteen minutes, deep rhythm flowing, survival.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Growing Pains
Silence. A yawning gap appears between us. It’s not always there. But my questions deliver just mumbled one-word answers. I have to strain to hear. I ask him to repeat himself but his reply seems designed to destroy conversation, it seems to suck meaning or purpose from the air. My thoughts feel flat and meaningless. I glance over to him to read his expression. It is neutral, a sort of impassive indifference. Maybe I ask too many questions. Maybe he thinks my questions are interrogations. Perhaps my self-consciousness puts him off. I just want to get closer to my son.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
The Chauffer Years
Yesterday I left college at two thirty and picked up my daughter from school at three thirty. At four thirty I drove back to pick up my son – he had football practice. We drove on to pick up boxes so we can carry on packing. We got lost but managed to get my daughter to her ballet lesson for six thirty. While she was there the rest of us dashed home to get changed and pick up her dancing shoes then picked her up at seven forty five. We rushed to Kingston for dinner at eight at a local restaurant.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Four Hundred Words
I found this website I thought looked interesting. What do you think?
Friday, 03 June 2005
I woke early to the sound of car engines driving through my sleep. Then the rubbish lorry pummelling down the street. Then clattering of metal on kerbstones, metal on the metal lip of the lorry and men shouting instructions above the roar of the engine.
Then hard sunlight pours through the blinds.
I’m restless. So I turn over again. My wife is asleep beside me. She had a bad night. She struggled with a sleeplessness for two hours. Put the light on and read for a while. Turned over and over.
We are waiting. Our days slip by.
Thursday 2 June 2005
There is an uneasy restlessness. A tightness that fills the air, it’s been here in the house, hanging around our lives for weeks now. It is unsettling. The children feel it too. My daughter will cry about something unimportant but won’t be able to stop, not for ages. My son has developed lots of routines – little things – like the way he wraps his bathrobe tightly around him and ties it with a cord it looks a little obsessive.
I often wake at four and slip uneasily in and out of sleep till six. I’ve had a few headaches recently too.
Sunday, 29 May 2005
This Sunday my daughter is in a Gymnastics competition this morning and my son is at a football birthday party this afternoon. I’ve just heard my daughter has won joint first place for her age group. I feel very proud and have dashed out to buy her flowers, a card and cake to celebrate later.
But I feel heavy like lead. I’m burning inside, something is eating away at me. I could give myself up to tears but if I do that I won’t be able to pick up my son from his party or my daughter from the competition.
Saturday 28 May 2005
I said goodbye to some students yesterday. It was the last time I’ll see many of them again. They were a great class. I felt good and excited every time I closed the door behind me and began to take the register. I’d look up to friendly, smiling and attentive faces and for three hours every week of the academic year we’d just play with words.
We played with Hamlet and an anthology of American poetry in the first year and this year we played with Othello, The Tempest, Translations by Brian Friel, and lots more poetry. I’ll miss them.
Friday, 03 June 2005
I woke early to the sound of car engines driving through my sleep. Then the rubbish lorry pummelling down the street. Then clattering of metal on kerbstones, metal on the metal lip of the lorry and men shouting instructions above the roar of the engine.
Then hard sunlight pours through the blinds.
I’m restless. So I turn over again. My wife is asleep beside me. She had a bad night. She struggled with a sleeplessness for two hours. Put the light on and read for a while. Turned over and over.
We are waiting. Our days slip by.
Thursday 2 June 2005
There is an uneasy restlessness. A tightness that fills the air, it’s been here in the house, hanging around our lives for weeks now. It is unsettling. The children feel it too. My daughter will cry about something unimportant but won’t be able to stop, not for ages. My son has developed lots of routines – little things – like the way he wraps his bathrobe tightly around him and ties it with a cord it looks a little obsessive.
I often wake at four and slip uneasily in and out of sleep till six. I’ve had a few headaches recently too.
Sunday, 29 May 2005
This Sunday my daughter is in a Gymnastics competition this morning and my son is at a football birthday party this afternoon. I’ve just heard my daughter has won joint first place for her age group. I feel very proud and have dashed out to buy her flowers, a card and cake to celebrate later.
But I feel heavy like lead. I’m burning inside, something is eating away at me. I could give myself up to tears but if I do that I won’t be able to pick up my son from his party or my daughter from the competition.
Saturday 28 May 2005
I said goodbye to some students yesterday. It was the last time I’ll see many of them again. They were a great class. I felt good and excited every time I closed the door behind me and began to take the register. I’d look up to friendly, smiling and attentive faces and for three hours every week of the academic year we’d just play with words.
We played with Hamlet and an anthology of American poetry in the first year and this year we played with Othello, The Tempest, Translations by Brian Friel, and lots more poetry. I’ll miss them.