Yesterday I moved out of my sister’s place, a quarter of an hour up the road, and full-time into my mum’s. At my sister’s, I had my own room, a decent-sized kitchen to horse around in, and a garage for larks. The garage was a bit of a mess, but I tidied it up and bought a cheap amp for an old electric guitar, and suddenly it was seventeen shades of awesome. Weed helped. My mum’s flat, on the other hand, is well bijou. Some would say poky.
I have my old Mac on the dinner table in the corner of the same living room in which I sleep, on a child’s mattress. In the other corner is the TV. My mum likes the quizzes. I like the quizzes too, I can’t deny it. So I have to be careful. I have to be careful not to use my desire to keep my mum company as an excuse to waste time watching television. It’s a thin line though.
Happily, my mum doesn’t need as much care as I’d anticipated. But in three to six months, she will have another operation which will complete the procedure that was begun a couple of weeks ago. So my plan to go and live in Thailand before Songkran in April has had to be postponed. Readily, I might add. After all, Thailand will still be there when my mum’s all connected up again.
So, you might say, I have a few months’ enforced emotional slavery in a claustrophobic half-space in a grim northern town. You might also add that I am getting both a cold sore, and hideously fat, that I’m living with my mum in my mid-40s and I haven’t had sex in what feels like light years.
But you’d be looking at it all wrong.
Much better to see it as a wonderful opportunity to get on with some stuff, because cooking, cleaning, quizzing and comforting aside, I’m free to do pretty much just whatever the hell I like for the next six months or so. And as it happens, I do have an awful lot to do.
Today, for example, I rubbed some cream into my scabby lip and I joined a gym.
Also, bimbling through a nearby park on the way home from the shops, I saw hosts and hosts of snowdrops.
And you’d be a fool to argue with snowdrops.