Not Complaining, or Something.

Why can’t I get myself to post anything here? I can’t tell funny little stories, as if I don’t spend most of the time wanting to smash something. (Not always something small and human.)

There’s nothing to say except about this great ugly misery, and I’m not that miserable. Not really. Or at least not all of the time. Just dreary, I guess.

How can I complain about my life, which is better than pretty much anybody, anywhere, ever, in all of humanity, has had. Right? So shut the fuck up, Sue.

Anyway, once I post it, it’s out there. I’ve only fairly recently started talking about it, kind of making it real. But I don’t want my kids to one day read this (if they live that long! (yes, that was a joke- that’s about as good as the jokes get around here these days,)) and think that they were the reason for me being unhappy. Definitely not them- they’re pretty much perfect, just, you know, motherhood.

It’s going to get so much better, I know that. And if I pretend for now that it’s better than it is, well that’s no fun to write! So for now, it’s just best if I don’t blog.

See you.


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2 Responses to Not Complaining, or Something.

  1. Jessica says:

    Hi Sue,

    Just wanted to post quickly that after seeing you last week (which was great) I know you are doing a really great job with your two – even though things are really hard at the moment you still do everything with their needs first. I’ve always thought of you as one of the best mums about, remember trying to do your knitting out in those gardens while all our kids were rushing about playing as we chatted in the sun? You were the easy going one out of us, letting Henry have a play with your wool and handing out balloons for the kids to throw about.

    Take care & I hope to hear from you good things again when life starts getting easier 🙂


  2. inner pickle says:

    Oh babe, it’s so hard to comment when I’m so far away. (I mean physically.) I’m sorry it’s so shite. I think there’s a whole lot of shite, in particular in the first year or so of number 2, that’s the hardest by far. The biggest shock. People don’t like to admit how much it changes them, changes everything, and not always blissfully. There’s a whole lot of laundry and groceries and fetching food and drinks that is dreary to the max. And one day, it’ll shift. And there’ll be more knitting and balloons and less sitting in the living room going “what the eff?!” I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I think that the best mothers feel it the hardest, because they want to live in the world with their kids. So they’re in it, and perhaps it’s shite for a bit, but you’re going to come out shining. And when you do, don’t delete the blue posts. They’ll be a yardstick for your light, light heart. Love you. xx

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