Being Here

I'm on my own in Tannaghmore with Matty. It's been a while. She is in bed and settled for the night. I'm sitting here with a small glass of wine writing this and listening to the incessant roar of traffic on the Lisnevenagh Road. In the next room Dancing on Ice plays softly. I wonder if Kerry Katona is going out? Matty gives an occasional rattly cough resulting from her latest infection.

I'm here for four sleeps and then Ganching comes. After that I'm here again for I don't know how many sleeps.

I dislike being away from home. I enjoy being around my own people, my animals and my own things. I've a huge bag of my own things with me. There are eight or more books. Bert said,

You must be going to do a lot of reading.

I say,

I want to be able to choose from a roughnance of my own books. Matty's books do not appeal to me.

I've three books on vegetable growing to peruse. I have two cameras. I have a Clothkits pinafore to sew. I have my iPod with an audiobook to finish and another freshly loaded. I have some mixed herbs. I have this laptop.

I find this a very boring house. I always have. When Matty was well there was at least the craic with her. There is not much of that now; only a bit of desultory chat for she is too tired for conversation now. When visitors call she generally nods off. The day is punctuated with care visits which start at 7:30am and finish around 9pm. In between there is medication, toileting, small meals to prepare, small amounts of cleaning to be carried out and many telephone calls to take.

That is what it is like now. Perhaps sometime in the future I will yearn for this boredom.