Restless but drowning
Most days I feel I am drowning in paperwork. The paperwork requires lengthy and, it seems at times unnecessary phone calls, rabbit warrens of wrong numbers and long periods in the dark wastelands of being kept on hold.
I am fighting battles daily, and not always seeing the progress made hampered by the fog of forgetting the tyranny of tiredness, lists and a limited income of encroaching tree-cutting monsters, of everything breaking.
Of a chid that is growing so fast
I survey the battlefield and long for a bonfire, to burn all the paperwork,or for an assistant to complete it. A librarian to digitise it, catalogue and file it away,deep in a locked temperature controlled environment.
To be visited when needed, along with the well-loved out grown clothes, and stuff we no longer have space for.
For someone to sort out the non-functioning cooker that is blocking the washing machine
I long to move away from these battles, To a place where I own the trees and the scenery,
Where it cannot be stolen, cut down, dug up, built on badly. Restless but drowning.
Time has his foot on the accelerator, but is he watching the road?