The Big Declutter

The last few weeks have been rather strange.

Leaving the job I've been at for the last eight years was a poignant experience.  I started there when my youngest was a baby and now he's in junior school - how the time has flown and how much things have changed since I first started.

My redundancy had been looming for so long that I was almost at the stage of just wishing it was over, but everyone gave me a good send off and so I ended up feeling rather sad.

And since then, have I had all the time in the world to get stuck into my wrting?  The short answer is a resounding no.

We go on holiday next week, which I'm really looking forward to - we didn't go away in the summer so we all deserve a good break.  We're off to Lanzarote so I'm hoping for some serious sunshine, swimming and some reading and writing.

But before all that I have to get rid of eight years of clutter.   We have a family of four coming to stay while we are  away, staying on until after we get back, and looking af the house, I was struggling to work out where we were all going to sleep.

We moved into this house eight years ago too - that was a busy year - and since then we have collected all sorts of clutter as the boys have grown and their bedrooms were a disgrace. 

So I spent the whole of last week sifting through lego, plastic toys, marbles, jigsaw pieces and a wool mill full of stray socks under beds.  The bedrooms now look sparkling and woe betide anyone if they mess them up again. 

This week I started on the spare bedroom and tomorrow - wish me luck - its the turn of the kitchen.

I did think that once I finished work I would be able to concentrate on builing up a business and doing some serious writing, but it seems that the house has taken over. 

And that's before I start packing.

I know its only been a week and a half but I don't think I could be a permanant housewife, and I'm hoping all this work now will free me up to do the things I want to do. 

One thing is for sure, once I get settled back after my holiday, I'm going to get myself into a routine.  Because I don't honestly see how writer's can write unless they are in a good routine.  I know this writer can't.

So its going to be a case of learning to switch off housework head and velcro my bum to my desk chair!

Wish me luck.

Linda

In A Black Fug

I have to confess, I had a bit of a meltdown yesterday and it's left me feeling a bit downhearted.  Not about my writing especially but just about life in general.  I have two children, a husband, a house and a job, I'm also a part time unpaid secretary for my husband's business. And I'm trying to write. 

No matter what I do, there are never enough hours in the day.   My kids are involved in all sorts of sporting activities after school and at the weekend.  They are popular children and have lots of friends.  My husband plays golf.  And in my spare time I, well I wash, iron, cook, clean and most depressing of all I pick up the used detritus of their everyday lives that they just can't be bothered to put away because that's what's mum's there for.  I have tried to train them, honest I have, but the only thing I have achieved is to turn myself into a nag.  A friend of my son's summed it up on Friday when he said that my youngest son reminded him of his cat - that only had a memory of about 3 seconds too!

I know I shouldn't complain, I know that my life is charmed compared to others, I know I'm  not living in Japan or any other disastor ridden country.  I'm not poor (I'm not rich either) but you know what I mean and I have my health and a family who loves me (when I'm not shouting at them that is).

Normally I can cope with a busy life, it may dishearten me from time to time but it doesn't completely floor me.  Perhaps it was because my husband had kept me awake most of the previous  night with his snoring (he should be thankful that all the sharp implements are kept downstairs) or it could be this combined with the good old hormones.

Men may laugh at hormones, or blame them for everything that is wrong with the woman in their lives, but I think they should be just damn grateful that them don't have to experience them from the inside.

Yesterday my husband did the best thing he could. He made a tactical retreat and took himself and our sons out of the firing line.  What he actually did was leave me feeling lonely, unloved and unloveable, but lets face it, he wasn't going to win either way so on reflection it was the right thing to do.

And whilst I felt as though the whole world was painted black, deep down I knew it would pass, and I would wake up soon wondering what all the fuss was about.

Depression is a terrible thing and I thank God that whenever it crosses my path it is only fleeting.  When I think of people like Marianne Keyes who have or who are still suffering from long term depression I admire them enormously.  The tenactity just to keep living when every day is surrounded by the black fug is a strength that can only be commended.

So moan over, sorry to bore you all, but sometimes you just need to get it out of your system. 

Now, back to real life, where did I put that broomstick?