Wednesday, 13 January 2010


Colour Therapy, Mixed-Media on Paper.

This piece is about cheering up.

I've been out of sorts for the last few days. I think I'm a little bit hormonal, I feel busy, and a little bit rushed. Not enough hours in these short winter days. I probably drink too much coffee.

I am disorganised, and I can't run a house.
I am demanding. Much more than I used to be. and exasperated.

This morning I caught myself planning to impose a rule about the washing- S doesn't touch it. Ever, until it has been washed and folded and placed in the appropriate drawer. This is not because I'm a control freak. It's because I'm so incapable of order that involving someone else in my master plan is just not an option. I can't afford to leave my drawer contents declaration open to artistic interpretation...

-Because winter is an endless search for missing socks. Neither he nor I ever wear matching ones, and when we visited his mother at Christmas, a comment was made, an eyebrow was raised in my direction, and my heart was broken. Just a little bit. Because I'm trying so hard.

I have a complex about my housekeeping skills, and it might be deduced from the previous sentence, I might be just a little bit over-sensitive about it. I feel like people who run a functioning house in a relaxed cycle of washing things and putting them away are the grown-ups, and I am a grotty teenager despite the best and most earnest of efforts.

When I saw him taking socks from the line this morning, (unmatched, because of course I didn't wash both socks in the pair in the same load...) and the shriek "Step away from the socks" was manipulated into a strangled sounding "are those socks matching?" , I relised I may have taken it too far.

I may have turned into some kind of moody, nagger... which isn't as fun for anyone.

All over non-matching socks, and an untimely raised eyebrow.


  1. Oh, that's hard. For what it's worth, I don't think anyone in my family has worn matching socks for years. Honestly, I don't think anyone I've ever met (or at least anyone I've ever liked) is *actually* good at keeping house. It's all just an illusion, and a dangerous illusion at that.

    On an unrelated note, I decided to make my blog private after I got a creepy comment the other day. I'd love for you to keep reading though, so if you want me to put you on the list send me an email at Thanks!

  2. Oh, who cares about the socks. You're doing your own washing, your cleaning up after yourself, and even if you're not, no one else is, so tell you inlaws to shove it. You're independent. Come and teach my 21-year-old something. She's useless.

  3. In regards to socks, dutchboy & I battled for a while before giving up & only buying black socks. for both of us. in the same size.
    Is that bad housekeeping?
    begone raised eyebrows!

  4. If it makes you feel any better my MIL raises eye brows at me all the time. I am a crappy house keeper but I have so many more important things to do than clean. Be kind to yourself and I think your colour therapy at the top is fabulous!

  5. Matching socks are not all they are cracked up to be...I would rather be able to paint, sing and speak three/four languages.x

  6. Aw, I have missed your writings... sorry I was away for so long. Also I am completely hormonal mess at the moment as well, and don't even get me started on missing socks! I could use a little color therapy... thank you for sharing. :)


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