A Sunday ramble
2002-10-13 || 9:20 a.m.

I'm writing in here because there's fuck all else to do.

Isn't that a lyric? 'fuck all else to do'. It sounds like it is.

My chest is not so bad today its decided to become a cough. One that Sylvia used to call a 'graveyard cough' when I was small. Ha, very comforting.

Actually, there isn't fuck all else to do, but I've only just got up and I don't fancy my literacy and numeracy planning yet.

I have no funny stories to relate, my day yesterday was dire boredom except for some nice emails in the evening. I left the house twice. Once to buy a paper (no, not for me to read, we are doing newspapers this week in literacy and I wanted a Guardian for my display board) and once to walk the dog in the evening.

Yesterday was something of a landmark day. The first time I have ever been in a house overnight on my own. Yes! at my age! Fucking ridiculous I know. But I did go straight from living at home, to living in a basement with Alain when I was pregnant, to living here. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as I thought it would be. I have this morbid fear of dying in my sleep. I don't like falling asleep because it's like losing control. I don't know who I am or where I go when I am asleep. I don't really understand this sleeping thing. What scares me is the thought that I would die and I really would cease to exist and I wouldn't know.

It's the 'I wouldn't know' bit that scares me.

But then again, if I wouldn't know, why worry? Because that's me. Worry, fucking worry.

No Virginia Woolf am I. My stream of consciousness writing is pure boredom.

Its got nasty with Alain now. He hates me and he's going to see a solicitor. Its just plain stupid. All that will happen is that someone else will make money out of us. No-one is going to 'win' anything.

My parents are annoyed with me too because I said I would not take any money from them at all. Although I have to hand it to my mum she played a good card. I said I would only accept stuff for Rebecca because I didn't want her to suffer. My mum then said that if I suffer, Rebecca suffers. So what did I reply? I muttered 'I'll think about it'.

Its a shame I didn't take Mrs Brutus' advice at school really. She said I was a natural lawyer with my ability to debate and manipulate. I didn't want to be a lawyer. Firstly, too much studying. Secondly, too much misery. Miss Bowman told me I should be a journalist. I didn't want to do that either. Why would I want to make money out of other people's suffering. What would be the chances of getting any sort of quality job. I only want to do good really and I don't want to sound like a prig when I say that. (Good old Enid Blyton eh, what an underused word 'prig' is). But of course it's Mrs Correia who made my favourite comment when she said I was an 'oddity in an odd class'. I wonder what she would have recommended I become? Probably not a teacher!

Of course what I really wanted to do, really, was to work in a library. Preferably a really unpopular library where no people come, well only a few that I like or relate too. Then I could spend all day browsing through dusty books or researching some really obscure fact for some Phd student somewhere. I don't think the not being able to read thing would disturb this ambition. If no-one comes there no-one will know and I could just dust the shelves instead. I could have a really big fuck off feather duster and climb up those little steps, or have one of those kick stool things. Oh God, ideally I could have one of those ladders that is attached to the shelves and I could slide along the shelves dusting as I go. I could wear a big gown made of yellow dusters and stick my arse out and dust the books as I go by.

I'll get my coat.