Furry teeth

Didn't brush them this morning and they feel foul. Drinking coffee doesn't help as it coats your teeth and makes their furriness even more obvious. Will try and be brief blogwise as need to use this precious hour or so making a start on the 12 page story for Derrek. The more I think about course deadlines, the more panicky I get, and the less I do. Shouldn't really be stressing about the bloody story anyway, as it's not even for assessment – is just a time filler – but by concentrating on that for a bit, it means I don't have to face the other yet, and it is all about avoidance. At least for me.

Think that's why my blogs are getting longer and longer – it's not as if my life is getting any more interesting or anything? Far from it! My life feels as if it's becoming increasingly dull and stultifying. Where's the fun, I ask you? And why do I have to carry all this crippling responsibility??!

Is driving me slowly nuts. The kids are being absolute angels at the moment, and I'm just being stressy and horrible in return. It's not right. Lucy was bored last night, so I suggested she make a cake, and that we could give it to Graham as a belated birthday cake seeing as the self-saucing chocolate pudding was such a disaster. So off she trots into the kitchen. Afterwards, I have a go at her for making a mess!

This morning, while I'm in town sorting out the car change-over paperwork, and fannying about looking for a suitable Christmas present for their granddad (a bottle of port in the end), she ices it. By the time I get back, we're late for our breakfast invite, but the kitchen's in total chaos again. Tell Lucy to clear it up, but what does she do? Only goes and knocks the cocoa powder all over the floor, and everywhere. Great. So I yell and scream at her, of course.

Then this evening, she's desperate to make pizza for tea. So I reluctantly say 'yes', as images of floury work surfaces, and mashed up grated cheese underfoot flash before my eyes. She's so keen, she's even prepared to cycle into town to buy the tomato puree for it. (Not having to cook for a change was also rather appealing, and may have had some sway). Naturally, my premonition comes to pass, and I end up moaning, shouting, and generally being nasty about it all. Poor Lucy's trying her best, and I'm stifling her independence and creativity. It was pretty tasty actually, and she made the salad to go with it. She's since hoovered the floor, twice, and the pair of them have done the dishes, while I'm up here typing whingy bollocks, (sigh).

Well, we made it out to Graham's this morning in plenty of time as it turned out. Skipped the microwave along the way, which died quite spectacularly last night in clouds of evil-smelling black smoke. Will need a replacement asap, especially with my protracted evening absences at college these days. Transferred all the bits of junk from Brian to Rusty; found my driver's license and £18 in the glove box, neither of which I knew were there. Graham had another stab at getting the stereo system going, but no joy. The kids amused themselves playing Risk, so that was cool. Eventually drove it away down the track – 3 years and 3 months since I'd last driven it there. A hell of a long wait for a welding job, that's for sure! Fingers crossed it will have been worth it.

Drove straight to the tyre garage to get the slow puncture looked at. Turned out the rim needed sealing, and there was a big fat nail stuck in the tread. No wonder. The lad who sorted it was a mate of Eddie's at school – hard at work, not bumming around being a slack student! Maybe I should just think about getting some honest work, stuff all this being a writer fantasy.

And I was determined not to waffle on – was meant to be a brief blog so as I could get on with other things. Half an hour later, I'm still dribbling away. At least Terry's finally got in touch. Been ringing, texting, round to his house to try and get some information from him for days. Talk about frustrating! Apparently, he's going to pick the kids up at 7.30am tomorrow to catch the train up to his mum and dad's. Hooray, at last. Will be able to get on with writing uninterrupted/no excuses/no distractions for an entire day, and maybe part of Sunday also. And then I shall go to the ball.