M T McGuire
The published works of M T McGuire
Writing? What Writing?
Hmm… Things are mad bad hectic, here! This is the first time I’ve been able to turn my computer on for about three days.
McOther is sick, oh how he is sick. He spent Thursday night coughing and, of course, I spent it lying there listening. I vowed to move to the spare room but by Fri pm he was a lot better so I didn’t. Sadly, he has managed to seque effortlessly from flu bug to… well, let’s just say chunderbirds are go.
McOther workload means that, during the week, I’m practically a single parent at this time of year, anyway, so after a couple of months of that I’m already quite knackered and some extra sleep deprivation hasn’t improved things. I reckon I am now a fully paid up member of the Undead, god knows the average zombie probably has more life in it than I do!
To add to the excietement it’s Guy Fawkes which, if you’re outside Britain, means that every chartitable body, community, sports team has its own lengthy fireworks display — blimey EVERYONE’S at it this year, I reckon even the allotments committee has had one. It means, every householder with two bent ha’pennies to rub together is able to afford enough fireworks to mount a noisy and exciting half hour display in their back garden. And does. Which is normally lovely unless you are in possession of nervous children or pets.
Yeh. Hands up to both.
So… since McMini is already going through a phase of night terrors, and is scared of loud noises, he is refusing to sleep unless someone sits with him until the last tiny phut has gone out — usually at about 9.30. And of course I am not always organised enough to sort out supper for myself first. And yes I’m quite aware that’s my fault but it doesn’t make it any less irritating.
Meanwhile, McOther, who normally has the constitution of an ox will, doubtless, pass his various ailments on to his sleep deprived spouse and trip happily off to work on Monday leaving me to try and look after the boy whilst malingering at the wheel of the porcelain bus.
Bloody hell. Looking at this, I reckon I’m channelling Jack Dee!
Oh and now we have half a pint of milk all down the futon. Mmm Mmm!
Posted November 5, 2011 and visited 624 times, 1 so far today