It is raining outside.
It feels damp and muggy inside, the air feels warm and cool at the same time.
The house is dark, but it is only the middle of the afternoon. The house is in disarray as the Christmas decorating has started so there are twinkling of lights here and there and glints from where the dim light hits glittery baubles.
I am sitting here, eating my feelings, picking out the extra yellow popcorn mulling over how I am going to diplomatically deal with the fact that Boo has been left out AGAIN. This time from a school camp AND not told about the school formal.
It is probably best that those I need to talk to are actually away on camp that WE WERE NOT TOLD ABOUT right now, giving me a few days to calm the fuck down.
And to stop madcrying.
Meanwhile, blissfully unaware Boo is pacing in the family room – ironically where a path has been cleared for one of many Christmas trees by the removal of the treadmill – decompressing after a full day of school muttering a quote on he has heard somewhere on repeat.
“That was a shocking tragedy, Karl’s death… he was a really nice man”
“Who is Karl?’ I call out to Boo, on the 40th go around,
“Shhhh, Mum, I am scripting” and he returns to his pacing and flapping, adding a few grunts and squeals and then grabs his guitar to play a little Back in Black.
I have dropped popcorn on my shirt, absentmindedly I reach down and grab it and pop it in my mouth.
It was a bug.