I Like Peach Coloured Things

It is now Wednesday night, and I'm not entirely sure as to how it got to be now. Last time I checked, I was watching Syriana with my Dad downstairs. When I woke this morning it was about 6 o'clock in the afternoon the following day. That's weird. I'm not even hungry.

So today has been a day of absolute sloth. There could be several reasons for this, and I've heard a couple. They include: I'm a little bit sick. I've been doing too much. I'm depressed. I'm lazy. I'm run down/worn out. I don't know what it is. I know that I'm reasonably bored, and am looking to go back to work again tomorrow.

I hate missing days from work. I feel guilty. It's not that I don't trust everyone else to cover for me, it's more that I know that the day never runs as smoothly as when all hands are on deck. I've got a role there, and it's not fair to ask someone else to do their job as well as part of mine. Plus, if I'm allowed to be a little bit full of myself, there are things that I do, that no-one else there does quite as well. Ha! Still, I have been neglecting it a bit recently. Other things to worry about.

I guess I can write about what's been bugging me lately. I guess the fact that it's getting to be obvious that my mother isn't too well is getting me down. I don't mind going up to the hospital everyday after work, but there's a reason no-one likes hospitals. They are full of sick people. And as much as I say that it doesn't worry me, it must. The average person doesn't spend 3 weeks out of five confined to a room no larger than the standard bedroom. The average person doesn't have 3 meals brought to them at the same time day in day out. The average person doesn't have to persuade themselves what is placed in the bowls and on the plates before them is actual food, and not just a sad reproduction of wonderful fuel. The average person is able to get out of their pajamas every now and again. The average person doesn't receive three different bouquets of flowers a week.

Maybe that's what has been slowly wearing me down over time. Like what's left of the12 Apostles down South. There's only so long you can put out a tough face, eventually it creates little cracks, and then the pressure gets along those cracks, sending them, spreading them out. The cracks keep continuuing until the structure is riddled by them, being held together only by the (almost) untouched surface and something else. What is that something else? Is it hope? Is it expectation? Is it life?

Except I don't think that it has been me that I have been talking about. Maybe it is. But I don't think so. It seems that everything is being built up towards one moment. But what happens when that moment comes? Time doesn't stop. Ice doesn't stop melting. Rivers continue to flow. Hearts still beat. Waves crash on the shores. Nothing changes. But something has. And that change is what is worrying me. I don't know what that change will mean to me. I know some of it, but I won't know the rest until much later. I've just got to hold my breath for a little bit longer.