fridays

fridays are a tough day. E is frazzled from a long day at daycare, and i'm frazzled from a long day at work. he gets upset and cries in the car on the way to the house, and then is testy and mercurial once we get home. meanwhile, i'm so tired myself that it's hard to parent as my best self or even a reasonable facsimile of my half best self.

i'm reminded of this poem by ph.ilip lar.kin (seriously, how many of you reading are close to your parents now?)


This* Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery* to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as* you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.


(and i havent heard re: the interview yet, but my plan is to contact them next week)