I want to be alone, but when I am I don’t. There’s so much I
can do while they’re out enjoying themselves. I can hoover or dust or make a
cake or read. I go for a walk, drink raspberry gin, scroll through Facebook. I
eat crisps, assess the garden, resolve to do some weeding. I read old diaries
and weepily reminisce about the good times. I’m busy wasting time in what has
become a wasted life. Silly me, as always, wishing I was like Brogan or Myra.
They have money, adventurous husbands and kids who invite them over. Envy isn’t
an attractive emotion, as my glamorous mother would say. I decide that later I’ll
dance crazily naked on the lawn.
No comments:
Post a Comment