Shrunk

Sometimes, as I sit here laaaaaatttteeeee at night, reading hundreds of entries to other people's blogs, I wonder why I bother. There sure as hell are some great writers out there - many who make me laugh out quiet (can't laugh loud, might wake one of the Munchkins), many who make me weep. And what do I do to the blogosphere? I guess I probably make you yawn more than anything...

But it's late and hey, holy crap, who's meant to be deep, meaningful or piss-your-pants hilarious at nearly 2am? Certainly not me.

So I feel pretty humbled by my fellow bloggers; I feel somewhat at a loss.

Which means only one thing. I'm going to have to start writing about my obsessions, just to liven things up a little. But where to start? So many obsessions...

Let's start with my insane obsession with stationery. You know, paper and pens and stuff. I could spend hours (who'm I kidding? I DO spend hours) meandering around my local "Papéthèque", buying notebooks I don't need. It makes me feel good. I love the feel of new notebooks, I love the idea of all the wonderful things I will write in them. Even though I know in practice all that'll happen is that my 6-yr-old will find them and start copying out the phonebook or something (it's not that I want to dampen her enthusiasm for reading and writing or anything, but I must stop leaving magazines lying around - she copied out "comment vivre avec un séducteur et le mater" the other day, which roughly translates as "how to live with a woman-chaser and tame him". Hardly appropriate, I'm sure you'll agree). Or that I'll only ever write crap. Grrr.

Or how about my current obsession with the film "Hairspray"? I saw at the cinema on my own back in September, in celebration of my new-found kids-back-in-school freedom, and have been obsessing ever since. I sneak the DVD (which I asked for and got for Christmas from D.) into the player whenever I'm alone and watch my favourite bits... Pathetic, I know. Even harder to admit is the fact that, as D and I totally screwed up in terms of "plans for New Year's Eve" and ended up alone, I watched the entire film that evening AND WAS HAPPY WITH MY EVENING. Sad, so sad.

But it IS a great feel-good film. And Zac Efron, though technically young enough to be my SON, is unbelievably cute, God help me.

Don't worry. There are more obsessions. I just can't bring myself to confess to everything right now.

Plus, I'm monstrously tired (again), and it's now past 2am, so I really have to get to bed because HOLY CRAP, tomorrow's Wednesday, which means at least one child not at school, possibly just in the afternoon, but maybe even ALL DAY. Why is France so against school on Wednesdays?

That, by the way, is another of my obsessions, but I'll leave it at that for tonight.

Shrink

I often wonder just what a shrink would really make of me, always assuming that I'd actually talk to one and not just sit in silence like I did the last time I went for therappeeeeee. I make all these lists of things to do, I make real, actual, lines-on-paper lists, and other, mnemonic ones in my head. And then instead of actually doing stuff on those lists (which of course just get longer and longer), I sit and read almost all of a Michael Crichton book ("Next", if you're wondering) in one sitting. I was bone-achingly exhausted (must be all that not-doing-stuff) at 9pm, and now it's almost 2am and of course I'm still up, with my eyes wedged open. But I finished the book. It was OK, nothing great, but I'm so skint right now I can't afford to buy new airport books, and I'm too bone-idle to re-register at the library, so I have to read what's at hand.
But oh, I'm so tired, and I'll feel even worse tomorrow, especially when I have to get up at 8.15 to get the girls ready for school.
Holy shit, how am I ever going to get out of this cycle?
I reckon a shrink would have a field day.