My support worker didn't notice my tidy up because he didn't show up. Nor did I text him to ask him his whereabouts. At a loss of what to say, at a total, utter loss, I couldn't see the point.
My son was impressed though so the getting down on my hands and knees to scrub the kitchen lino wasn't for nothing. (I'm beginning to think that if one values oneself, nothing one does around the house is for nothing but that is just a thought, a random, flyaway thought.)
I didn't want to post his no show when I woke up this morning. I didn't want to post at all. Sod the blog, sod the blog. I can you know, it's not like calling in sick to work because I can't face it today. Hauling my sorry arse in front of my computer is nothing like hauling my arse to a factory line (though we did have a few laughs I suppose back then, not that I want to repeat the experience now)
I could watch the autumn leaves fall outside my window, like Nat King Cole, but Zat bike is calling me. To Camden, to Camden, to the ingredients for fish pie. My son, I've said, loves fish pie.
He is my boss today. That is what he wants and it will lift me out of this stupor. Onwards, onwards, I go
Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho
Hi ho, hi ho
It's off to work I go
la la la la laa la la la laa
Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho, hi ho
(Stigmum is feeling Dopey this morning)
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