By some miracle I’m sitting in an 8:30 lecture. Just praying that I didn’t leave a child at home. A conscientious account of a journalism student who is afraid of the phone.
So I’m sitting in the university library. By some sheer miracle of physics I delivered my children half-dressed and unkempt to before-school-care, and arrived at my lecture with five minutes to spare. Dumping my bag I decided that coffee was the only thing that would bring meaning to my life, so I hopped out and grabbed a very long and very black coffee and some pear and raspberry bread to massage my thoughts into action. Arriving a respectable ten minutes late for my lecture. Staring at the ground as I cross in front of the lecture. If I don’t make eye contact she won’t notice the coffee and paper bag in my hand.
Aced the lecture, now functional I participated in my student life. Lecture’s finished, hopped (I’m doing an inordinate amount of hopping this morning) over to the always over crowded library where three-quarters of the campus population tap away at Apple laptops or anxiously prepare crib notes for their presentation that you know some member of the group hasn’t been involved in, but has turned up today, smiling ready to accept the accolades. Bastard.
Finished last week’s blog post (as now most university communications work requires an online blow-by-blow) and now I’m trying to avoid the inevitable phone call that I have to make to finish an article I think I’m writing (5 days till due date). I HATE calling people that I don’t know. It makes my stomach feel like it’s lined with a dank smelling river sand and a slow crawling bottom feeder is making it’s way up my spine. I’m going to be an awesome journalist. Seriously.
Your final assignments are due and your children decide to make pancakes…all over the kitchen. It’s a race against time, sanity and cleanliness.
The weekend from hell. Three final deadlines are burgeoning or past. Single parenting with no jobs has climaxed in a pile of unpaid bills such as internet and mobile phones. I’m disconnected.
Dissolved to laughter and despair, reading papers by social scientists, neurologists and statisticians while my six year old climbs on my lap and my nine year old begs me to come watch a movie and my refusal deposits her onto my office floor bemoaning the aspects of her boredom. Whilst I bemoan my place of intellectual solitude and my space of playful parenting… all at once.
There was a routine in place all semester that as Murphy’s Law would have it, it and Netflix dissolved on the final weekend of session when everything was due. This is the study roller-coaster domestic style. How do children manage to use every plate in the house before four o’clock in the afternoon. Of course there were pancakes and toast, the evidence of their existence is covering the kitchen bench.
” But mum, I’m hungry…” of course you are darling.
It’s funny when you decide to study as a mother of small children, it’s such an idealistic act. The motivation is almost purely directed towards an ends… but there is no way of predicting or describing the moments of chaos and inspiration that exist in the middle. But for now the chaos… lots of flour, sugar…mountains of sugar (warning: things may appear larger than they actually are), honey, bicarbonate of soda, jam, the list and the stickiness goes on.
Thank goodness the report was digitally submitted, otherwise the pages would be stuck together.