Cracking up

I was only ever going to write one little post titled 'isolation', about self induced isolation. How odd it was now feeling, particuarly now that this blogging lark feels like a full time job, that none of the parents in the playground knew I was writing a blog at all. None of them.

Not the friend who helped with my masters thesis, or the dad that I tend to talk council stuff with or the mums I talk about any old thing with. Instead that other stuff came out, buried stuff, stuff that I've learnt to deal with even though it made me feel sad for my son.

I kept the title 'isolation' because I couldn't think what else to call it. I hadn't planned to write it. I know I can delete it, such is the beauty of blogging, but have decided it has some value. The title stays because it was an isolating time. I didn't want to create rifts in the playground. It wasn't my playground, it was my son's.

Last week I read about a mother who attacked another mother who'd 'disrespected' her infront of her child with a hammer in full view of the kids in a school playground in Crawley and was jailed for 3 1/2 years. I know mothers in the playground who would defend their children better than I defended mine. Molly said once that she had a dream she hit me because I was horrible to her son. It was an opportunity to tell her about ugly, but I didn't. But enough about that.

When I met the mentor earlier I told him I was 'writing everything down now', writing myself into black holes, writing myself out of them, but I didn't tell him I was blogging. It almost felt deceptive, for I knew I was about to write about him, well, about the school through him. It doesn't feel deceptive writing about the council; that feels like duty. It's a system, operated by people whose wages you are paying. What they're doing to me they are doing to lots of people.

Two weeks into term I'm walking into the playground on automatic pilot, so full my head of housing housing housing. I've been playing this same record for years, it's not something I want to talk about the five minutes I'm there in the morning and afternoon for I know some friends have walked away over the years. You take your losses in battle. I have to train my brain to think about other things because I have a future, even if I don't know what it is.

I need to sleep. I'm not sleeping. I didn't have lunch today, only realised when I was late to pick up my boy. My body hurt I'd smoked so much. I had cramps in my shoulders and stomach as I walked. I had to sit on a bench when I got there as I couldn't stand up straight. I couldn't articulate my speech or my thoughts properly when I mentioned the logistics of my son's birthday party to mum with newborn baby.

I feel like I'm cracking up. I need to get back with the human race.

The flats are being viewed tomorrow apparantly. I didn't get called today. That means only one thing. I must go to bed before I write myself into my grave. I'm meeting my MP tomorrow. It would help if I'm a bit compos mentis.