Day 27 of Grief: Fathers Day

(From recording) So, what is this? Sunday, whatever of June, possibly. I have been cleaning for a while, I guess. It’s Father’s Day in the real world.

I’m like one of those Traveller women who spend their lives fucking cleaning. Could do with a few of them around here. The state of this house when people were here. I’ve never cleaned as much in my fucking life.

Dear, dear, dear, dear.

What a day. What a life.

I feel like a wee bit of reality is hitting in, you know. I’m feeling a wee bit down. So I’m glad Daniel is out. Glad there’s a bit of silence, well, bar Bowie’s whinging in the house.

Awful.

And all those cunts in the world living on. .

Maybe it’s God’s will.

Well, then God’s a fucking cunt.

Last night, I don’t know. I just felt really down. I just didn’t know what to put on or wanted to do, and I wanted Daniel safely home.

He’s playing silly beggars and telling me that the taxi I booked is too early, when in fact he’s lucky I have a taxi booked at all. So he’s going to have to figure out if he’s got someone, or he’ll have to stay there until two o’clock.

Right, I hear Bowie’s chicken is cooked. I’m going to get it.