Thursday, 12 April 2012

Knife. Edge.

The hackles are up and I’m on a knife edge.

Knife.  Edge.

Everywhere I look there’s mess.  Through these black-tinted glasses I’m wearing, the entire house is a disaster zone.  The bed’s are untidy, there’s still a pile of ironing to do, the kids have shredded muesli bar all over the rug and is that a piece of apple those ants are marching across my floor?  The floor that I vacuumed and mopped this morning?  Oh and awesome – the strawberry shampoo is lying on the bathroom floor and has leaked over a third of the floor.  Including the bathmat.  I close the door.  Can’t deal with that right now.

I can feel the hackles rising and I’m ready to snap.  Add to the mix Polynesian Princess teasing Little Warrior and the requisite sound of him screaming his disapproval.   Con-stant-LY.  Oh yep…I’m that much closer to the edge now.

I pick up the $29 replacement phone I bought from Australia Post yesterday (due to Little Warrior smashing my iPhone’s screen, hence it’s now in as an insurance claim), and find that it’s switched itself off.  Again.  I grit my teeth.  If I grind a little harder, I swear I can taste powder.

The muscles between my shoulder blades now feel so tight they could be played like a lute.  Although I think if somebody just punched me between them it might alleviate the tension a little better.  I think if somebody started strumming my back right now, I’d behead them.

The microwave beeps and I take out last night’s leftovers and start to “get their dinner ready” when the phone rings.  I snatch the phone up thinking “WHO THE FUCK IS THIS NOW?!” and it’s an angel.  My angel on the other end of the phone.  My girlfriend asking if she can pop over and help me with the kids.

I release the breath I don’t know I’ve been holding and say “please”…

Image: Victor Habbick /

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