Talking to myself

I'm going to have to hang wires from my ears and a little microphone under my chin, so that I can talk to myself without attracting suspicious stares. I talk to myself more and more often these days, with increasing vigour and volume. I am unashamed about this and intend to continue, as:

• It helps me to order my thoughts
• I find myself witty and eloquant, and frequently laugh out loud
• I am often struck with wonder and unable to contain myself
• I am often struck with rage and unable to contain myself
• I'd like to talk to others, but most people don't have time to listen
• I don't have time to listen, but I'm always around when I talk to myself
• I hope someone will join in, because there are so many things we need to talk about, aren't there?

This is a good blogger profile. What are we doing but writing to ourselves? I was always destined to become a blogger, even before I knew what one was (which was not that long ago).

I finally managed to set up the blog yesterday with the help of my husband J-C. He found the blogger site and brought the information up on the screen and then he left me to it. He claimed not to know the answer to any of my questions even though he works in computing, it's a Wife Management Technique I think. So I had to muddle through. Not all my artistic sensibilities were possible, not all my requirements were met. Squally rows passed overhead all afternoon until well into the evening.

I had all afternoon to concentrate because R&B (our children) had gone next door to celebrate the neighbour's 14th birthday. The theme of the party was shooting each other with elastic bands and bits of paper, and setting off crackers in one another's ears. B told me he found T's teenage friends a little rough, so he sat up on the stairs and watched them. R came charging home, put on his 'super thickest jumper and his super-thick fat coat' and charged back, after that he didn't feel a thing, so he tells me. This was reported to me as a truly excellent party. One lightbulb, one doorhandle and the table football was broken. There is no record of the parents' reaction. I have been trying to get a block of time to set up this blog for over one year, and just for once no meals, no demands, for 5 hours.

Then R came home and said 'I'm hungry'. I was forced to prepare pasta ribbons with some hollandaise sauce I found at the back of the fridge freezer. B complained that it tasted of fish. When I interrogated the rest of the family, they did not dare agree with him. It did taste of fish. But we do not seem to have food poisoning. I did fry some organic green peppers and cut up an organic avocado to go with it.