I dabbled on here yesterday. Looked up and noted the daily word prompt, thoughts percolated in my brain about how to write yesterday’s word. I even wrote a few sentences. But nothing stuck. Nothing seemed right. So I switched off my laptop and took flight for the day.
My mind is a jumbling mess. The problem I hit in my latest manuscript is taunting me. I check back daily at the spot where I left off, and all I can see is something similar to roadworks signs. You know, the kind that notify drivers that the road is closed, blocked. Works are being done so a new route needs to be taken. Or at the very least, advising drivers to approach slowly, with caution.
My head is a throbbing, thumping pain, as if a hammer is pounding from inside. I have taken headache tablets, tried to ignore the god-awful noise coming from the TV (some shitty Netflix children’s show). In the end, common sense and self-preservation prevailed and I have placed my earplugs in. I am now listening to Radiohead as I write this. But geez, my head is still nasty.
My children return to school on Wednesday. This makes me very happy. But it’s also bitter-sweet as these holidays have been our best yet. In Januarys past, I have been a frazzled mess, sick to the back teeth of my gorgeous offspring, but now they’re older and more self-sufficient, the days have been easier. Sure, they have still annoyed the crap out of me (I wouldn’t be an honest mumma if I didn’t admit that), but the simple fact of them being able to grab their own snacks and lunch, head to nearby friends’ homes for an hour or so is gold.
It’s the boys’ last year of primary school, so a big year for us all. I’m already teary just thinking about how quickly these years have gone. Only six years ago, they stood frightened like deer caught in headlights at the front fence unsure of what lay behind the gates. I stood, equally frightened for them (and me), but fiercely pretending to be fine. Any sign of tears or clingyness from me, would have resulted in full-on tantrums, with kicking and beating not to be left behind. Now, they are confident, have made friends for life and know the place like they own it. Now, T1 avoids eye contact with me if he happens to see me in the front office or corridors. T2 still happy to see me, thankfully.
I guess the word flight represents so much of what’s going on for me right now. I want to run from my writing, it’s hurting my brain. The required detour is not yet clear. My cautionary approach only makes me want to run the bastard over, instead of preserving its life.
The word also represents my kids—the twins especially—growing up, readying themselves to take flight into the big wide world. Primary education is the last vestige of children needing their parents in close proximity. My boys don’t need me as much anymore, they don’t need me to hold their hand through life quite as much as six years ago. Very soon, my boys will be smelly, they’ll go a bit cray-cray with hormones, their voices will change, they will seek the company of girls, (or maybe other boys, that’s fine too). They stand at the beginning of the rest of their lives, ready to leap.