Leaving the children

That was a lovely few days. A dear old friend with no car and a train strike. That’s why I ended up in Stratford with her and her kids. She was working down a list. She asked me. I was free.

Minnie and I aren’t counting. My best friends are never counting.

Sometimes I phone somebody up after years of being completely out of touch and they behave like we have to start again. Nonsense. It’s a tyrrany. Minnie and I have seen very little of one another, but we know that we are deep friends. She gets it. If one or the other of us goes dark for a few months it doesn’t affect the depth of the friendship we have forged. And in the same way, I will take you as you were no matter how long it has been since I last saw you. Counting is about ego. “He hasn’t contacted me so I’ll stop contacting him and then I’ll see how much he cares about ME ME ME” I love games. I play them all the time. I’m not interested in gaming my relationships. I care about YOU YOU YOU. I’m just not very good at the everyday because that’s not my life, and yeah if you want me to ask a specific question maybe you should try volunteering the information because maybe I’m trying to let you do it on your own terms.

In practical terms I drove Minnie and the girls from Stratford to London today. It was a surprisingly manageable journey. Zephi had a moment, but was mostly excellent company as always. Bou is milky, and was kind enough to sleep pretty much the whole journey. We made it down pretty easily and in some ways I was sad to drop them all off. I’ve been swept up in their life for the last few days. I’ve been part of their highly charged existence. Zephi in particular is exposed to all the feelings and has very little management of them. She’s not even five yet though. It’s amazing to be part of her negotiation from baby to person.

“This will help put you off for life,” says Min. But I find myself fascinated and horrified all at the same time at these life eaters. Screaming and poo. Screaming and poo. Round and round and round. But then eventually, when we are old, there’s somebody who kinda understands that karmically it’s good that they are coping with your screaming and clearing up your poo. That’s the ideal. Rather than them farming you off to a nursing home.

Zephi made a plate

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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