Saturday, April 12, 2008

The Weight of Anxiety

It's always traumatic when the boys go away for the holidays. It shouldn't be, but my confidence that they are going to have a lovely time is slight. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised when they come back recounting the agreeable holiday they've had, but it shouldn't be a lottery.

After yesterday's hand-over I have little faith that this week is going to be much fun for them. This was further confirmed by some communication from my eldest today, to the point that I have been fairly paralysed with a sort of low-level misery. It's a visceral feeling that happens to mothers when they know their offspring are unhappy. I've been pretty useless for anything for most of the day.

I didn't manage to get my youngest's bike to the repair shop, or take our unwanted stuff to the Secours Catholique which I've been meaning to do for some time, or look at summer shoes, or clean the shower curtain, or throw out decaying junk from the fridge. I didn't go to the bottle bank, or the pharmacy to buy anti-flea shots for Ulysse, or shorten some new trousers, or have a proper lunch (I ate crisps!).

I did manage to get to Carrefour and stood miserably in front of the dried fruit and nuts shelves in search of raisins only to remember that the ones I like are in Intermarché. There was no coriander or the Fair Trade chocolate I like, but I did find bulbs for the halogen lamps in the bathroom. I hadn't known how to take the lamps apart to remove the bulb so took a screwdriver to the inbuilt lights and brought down bits of plastic with the cover. Oops - they only needed unscrewing...

When I got back I forced myself into the garden to do some weeding. It's been raining, so ideal for pulling up cocky weeds that think they've got their installation sussed. Even the ones that break off at the base more than easily succumbed to some gentle persuasive tugging.

I have not since received any more desperate communications, and am feeling calmer and less morose. I finished reading Gabriel García Márquez' 'One hundred years of solitude' which was strangely apt in my present state. Fabulous book, by the way - a mega classic good read with some breathtakingly beautiful images.

Today has been a wasted day, expended on futile anxiety. I can do nothing to resolve the situation, and can just react to the fallout. It's exhausting. Thank goodness I have my pals for moral support.


  1. Can't wait to get you round here for some rillettes de thon and good booze tonite!!

    Offspring misery has no cure.....and is like ploughing thru mud - no way of charging forth in a nifty way!

    Hurry up and come and eat, drink and make merry!

  2. My Saturdays often feel like this as I wait to go and run my daughter to one place or another. I don't feel like I can get into anything substantial so I just putter and end up feeling like I've wasted a huge amount of time. And it's not even her fault, but something about me "holding the time." Strange...

    Meilleurs voeux!!


Comments are bienvenue.