My alarm goes off at 7:15am. No dramas, no rush. Dee has gone back to waking up JC. I know that he is in his room firmly ensconced in his Naruto fan fiction. I roll over. No rush to get up. My eyes open with a start. I look at the clock. 7:50am. I swear I had just shut my eyes.
I jump up, pad through to the bathroom, strip off and hop onto the scale. I wince. I decide that this journey of losing weight warrants its own blog (Ed’s note: you can read it here) and think about what to call it. I hop into the shower. Having already taken a look at my wobbly bits before hopping into the shower, I avoid looking at myself again.
JC is in the family room reading. “Good morning, my love. Let’s get you some breakfast.” JC barely looks up. He is snuggled under a blanket. I hand him two bananas – his current breakfast of choice. He will have that for a number of weeks until he gets bored of it and we move onto another breakfast. There is no variety. Just as well, I can’t cope with variety at the moment.
We head off to school. Silence. The usual silence. Why does it bother me so much? Possibly because I am a communicator, a sharer of thoughts. And he is not. I’m the adult, I need to accept this and move on. “Bye love, have a good day, I love you!” The usual grunt. God, the teenage years. So infuriating.
I have a mission today. A weight loss mission. A gearing up for the weight loss mission. First coffee and raisin toast. Not exactly weight loss friendly, but I am not starting that part of the journey just yet. Just gearing up for it. The coffee is divine, but for some reason the raisin toast does not go down as well. I do this every morning, have coffee and raisin toast, and I enjoy it every time. So why is it sticking in my throat? Bloody diet. My body is already starting to reject the food I enjoy but I know is not good for me.
Big W next. Michelle Bridges’ books. $25 each! That’s $50! Oh well, I want to do this weight loss thing. I just did not think it would be so expensive. I head to the shoe store to find that buying “proper” running shoes is around $200. I want to tell the shop assistant that in South Africa a guy ran the entire comrades marathon route, some 90 kilometers, bare foot. I don’t, but I want to. I am not impressed with his sales technique (read, I don’t think he knows what he is doing), so I head off to another store. Success.
I feel quite buoyed by my successes today. Of course, I haven’t actually DONE anything to lose weight, just bought the equipment, but hey, it makes me feel good. It is around lunch time and I am starting to feel hungry (funny that). I want a muffin, but decide on pumpkin soup in the food court, which is surprisingly good at $4.
I meet a woman from my Autism support group for coffee. I have never met her before but as we kiss hello, there is a knowing. Our sons’ genetics are different and they are clearly at different places on the spectrum, but we share a knowing. The knowing of how difficult it is to parent a child on the spectrum with all their quirks, tantrums and rigidity. There is no judging, only knowing. Knowing and empathy and compassion. I feel relaxed. Warm. The hour passes too quickly. We agree to meet again soon and to get our families together.
After collecting JC from school, I feel anxious at being home. The housework needs to be done and I don’t want to do it. Am I lazy? I don’t want to be considered lazy, but I think I must be. There is washing that needs doing, the dishes need putting away. I want to stamp my foot and protest. I glance at the lounge suite. It’s dark chocolate leather drawing me into its comfort. My laptop sits next to where I sit. My fingers start to move. I have to blog. I have to write. I have to think with my fingers. I stride over and sit down. I stretch my legs out onto the chaise. It’s like curling up with an old friend.
I open up the laptop and without thinking my fingers are flicking away. My thoughts flow freely and the housework is a forgotten chore.
“What’s for dinner?” JC has emerged from his cocoon. I look up. 6:15pm. Bugger.
“Not sure yet.” I reply.
“I’m hungry.” I’m irritated. I’m in the flow of writing and to break for food now will interrupt the flow.
“Okay, I’ll get something started.” I don’t want to stop. I’ve only just found this writing thing. Well, it’s been with me forever, but I have only just started writing on a daily basis. I don’t want to stop. Omelettes. I’ll make omelettes. Quick, easy.
JC eats it up with relish. Luckily he likes cheese omelettes. I eat mine with not so much relish, thinking that this is not diet friendly. It fills the space. I retire to my spot. I write.
Dee arrives home. “What’s for dinner?” What is it that people keep bothering me to eat?
“Omelettes. I’ll make it just now.” Dee breaks the eggs into pan. Such a self sufficient man! I write some more.
A book. Could I write a book? What would I write about? Death and how to survive it? Autism? Adventure? Yeah, right, like I’m so adventurous. What does a housewife who barely leaves the house write about? I need a better imagination, I think. So many people want to write a book. Millions. It’s too competitive. Nah, I can’t write a book. Maybe I could write a mills and boon type book. Urgh. Mills and Boon. So not a fan. Jordan, aka Katy Price, has written a book, surely I can get a book published. Probably not. I think I’m suffering from writer’s block before I have even established myself as a writer. God, that sucks.