Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Asking for mercy, again.

I could be a right bitch sometimes. Nagging and unforgiving and selfish and loud and aggressive. I really want to be different.

Am going to the TST Baptist church tonight with C to see this preacher whom she raves about. Yes, "rave" is the right word. She's even bought his DVD box set. She sits through the night and watch them over and over again as with her Sex and the City box set. Anyway, I will attend with an open mind and hopefully persuade her to swing by Little Fat Sheep for hotpot after. Yum yum.

My younger son, J, you know, the four year old, has been so clingy lately. Even more so than usual since term break started. He's gotten into the habit of following me everywhere, particularly when I go to the loo. He would insist to come inside and, well, I guess, keep me company whilst I do my business(es). Be it number 1 or number 2, shower or bath, plucking of eyebrows or changing of tampons. I don't really mind to be honest, the fact that he watches me do these things. But sometimes I'd like to do them in peace. Invariably he would yab away as I do my tasks and I will have to entertain him. Try picturing it. It's quite irritating.

So, this morning, as he followed me to my room after I declared I needed to use the bathroom, I stopped him at the door and said

NO! You are not coming in with me.

Then his cute/sad little face comes out all scrunched up and said

But WHY!? I'd miss you when you are inside!

Because I don't like it! I'd like to use the bathroom in peace...

But I will not disturb you, I promise I will be

Et cetera as the exchange went. So finally I shouted at him. He got all teary and started playing with this painting that is hung in the hallway. So I shouted at him EVEN LOUDER and said

Stop playing with that painting! I said STOP doing that! ARE YOU DEAF!!??

I just wanted to show you... sob, sob, sob, mousey voice


I was fucking bellowing at this point. Raving. My eyebrows nearly touching my hairline and my eyeballs about to pop out.

There are some books in the painting... more miserably sobbing.

Turns out, O must have hidden a couple of books in there for God knows how long. Actually, I know how long. One of them was Murakami's Kafka on the Shore, which I had bought a couple of months ago and which had mysteriously disappeared after I was onto about page 35. The other was Horrid Henry's bundle of joy or something.

I felt so bad about my lousy behaviour that after saying my sorries and finishing my business in the loo, I had to go back to bed. I needed to sleep my misery off. God, forgive me.

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