I’m pretty sure that’s how I’m holding it together.
It helps that I spend hours every evening watching shit TV and mindlessly knitting while chomping 15 pieces of Dairy Milk and washing it all down with highly sweetened coffee.
The house is not falling apart but I am.
OH is having to do everything. He’s working a full time job, cooking, cleaning, washing up, shopping, putting petrol in my car, getting us out of bed.
I’m cheering if I manage to get up, shower, and do a full morning without shouting.
So far there has been no cheering.
I’m not desperately depressed but the size 8 trousers hanging from my prominent hips point to the fact that I am actually managing to burn off calories just by being worried. I’m eating. I’m possibly eating more than I normally would but still I’m getting thinner.
For now, I just hope the selotape doesn’t begin to peel at the edges and that the blu-tac stays moist.
And that there is an endless supply of cake.