Last night, like every night, was full of too much work and so very little sleep. When I woke this morning groundhog day loomed, like the hugest of mountains.
The boys had been up since just after 5am, grouchy-tired, irritating each other with just a glance. I ignored their shouting and trudged into Bean’s room to find his clothes.
My body felt crumpled with tiredness, my brain incapable of stringing speech together. The prospect of work was daunting.
As I tutted and sighed and fought my way through a ridiculously large pile of odd socks for such a small boy, I cursed everything.
I cursed my exhaustion, my lack of superhuman ability to rise above my exhaustion, the colds that we just can’t kick, the irritable fug that we’re drowning in, the children’s yelling that cuts through me like a knife. I cursed at how haggard I feel. I cursed at how haggard I look. I cursed the pile of washing I still haven’t done, the bathrooms that haven’t been cleaned, the phone calls I haven’t made...