My sister thinks the worst play Shakespeare ever wrote was The Taming of the Shrew. Not because it was badly written, but because the story was so unremittingly depressing. Even now she cannot imagine making so many compromises loving relationship or otherwise.
You may have guessed I am in a MOOD I think that whole domesticity thing versus the desire to paint has reared it's head, which is difficult when living with a domestic Neanderthal.
A man who chastises a dog for peeing and crapping on the dining room floor when he ....well you know the rest. I finally cracked yesterday and begged him to clean up after himself (Emin not the dog). "No why should I? You do it" So I have moved out of our already dysfunctional en-suite into the girls bathroom, I can't look at the carnage any longer.
I am going to start playing the lottery, I need to at least dream of a less chaotic life, I have to look forward to this week a K2 sized mountain of washing, dust an inch thick, the usual pile of paper that accumulates everywhere a flat surface is, an equivalent K2 sized mountain of clean washing to put away, clear the leaves out of a blocked drain, clear all the dog pissy newspaper from the back yard that I've dumped not wanting to schlepp through the house with it, I could go one but I know you are all bored senseless by now.
One good thing is I can access all those blogs blocked at school because Daisy has gone into town all loved up with her boyfriend leaving me free to prevaricate the whole day long