I don't want to do the washing; clean the loos; vacuum the floors; make the tea; be responsible; be accountable; deal with the mundane, tedious and downright soul-sappingly dreary jobs that grown ups have to do.
Yes I know it's all part and parcel of having a lovely and happy home, life and family. I understand and accept that, and ordinarily have no problem with it - it's a trade off that I'm more than happy to do.
But some days.
Some days, I want to...shut myself in my room, listen to my music, chat with friends, lig around on my bed, doodle, scribble in my journal...just be.
No requirements of me.
No natterings at the back of my head twittering away at me to: not forget to text a friend to see if they're ok; buy salad; do some exercise; consume less sugar; read more; get out in the fresh air; sort the spare room out; reorganise the drawers in the study; wrap that birthday present; arrange to drop off that birthday present; tidy the house before Paul gets home; get my other jobs done before George gets home; remind George to do his homework; rearrange that night out; look at dates to have friends round; do that two hours work/work; get the tea made and eaten before George's dad picks him up at 6; get back on with the Ditsy to dos; put my face on; cheer the heck up; stop feeling like a stroppy teenager; JUST GET ON WITH IT!
I know it will pass. I know there's a (very) good chance it's hormonal. But still. Oh to just lig about on my bed, laying on my belly, reading a magazine with my music on, and not a care in my head.
I think it was sitting on George's bed, admiring his domain (as he called it yesterday), and remembering my own domain in my parent's house as a child, that set this all off.
I just wanted to stay in there, shut the door on the rest of the house/the world, ignore everything that needed doing, and just enjoy the stillness of it.
Normal 43 year old service will resume shortly :)