Why do you get up in the morning?

Or don’t you like getting up in the morning at all?

I get up in the morning every day at 5:40am because my husband has to get up that early for his commute to work. I sluggishly make breakfast on the go and lunches for both me and him for the day, while he rushes about grabbing last minute things and having a shower. When he leaves I clean up our mess and fold clothes away and put a wash on and pack my bags for the day before picking my brothers up and dropping them off to school.

After that I go to the gym for two hours, have a shower, and then lesson prep for my afternoon lessons. Once my lessons are over at 2:30 I pick my brothers up from school, drop them home, and then have one hour free in which to prepare for my afternoon lessons, which last from 4pm through till 7pm.

By 7pm, my husband is returning home from work, so I go back home and say hello. Sometimes he lets me kiss him and other times he is distracted and exhausted, his hazel eyes two alien orbs sunken into his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his colourless cheeks.

But wait, I am not done yet, because although I want to just sit next to my husband and watch his shows with him, switching off as he does, I cannot. I must prepare for the next day, and study, and write, because those books won’t get written by themselves, and my degree won’t obtain itself either.

When I finally get into bed, at around 12am, my husband is as still as a log, in the deep sleep only one who is exhausted can experience. I, too, will experience it.. just… as .. soon.. as my head .. hits… that … pillow.

I get up in the morning because I have a day to conquer, a living to make, and a career to create. I get up in the morning because it is the only time I will get to see my husband, albeit for a few minutes, and give him a hug in private. I get up in the morning because I am obligated to by duty, and no, I am not always happy about it. In fact I can be despicably moody about it and drive around town with a perpetual frown on my face drawn on by constant exhaustion.

I like getting up so early in the morning, though. You see? I like it. I might not always show that I like it, I might hit that snooze button and then be half an hour late for everything all day, but I like that I can have an entire day, nineteen hours, in which to do all I have to do and complete my goals.

I don’t always complete all my goals, of course, and some days I am so sluggish I can barely think, but the weekend always beckons me, with bright sunshine and promise.

It doesn’t always fulfil that promise, though, but it does let me have a lie in with my husband in the mornings. It’s sad, but I look forward to that the most all week. Just a few extra hours, to talk about what’s happened all week, or have a laugh about something, or plan for the days when we can be together properly, without family in the way, without other obligations, without being in a hurry or being too exhausted to speak.

I look forward to those days, and I guess, that is really why I like getting up in the morning.

Why do you get up in the morning?


Oleg Riabchuck


Something Precious

It’s not what you think.

It’s not family, love or hope.

It’s not vivid nature, nor personal exuberance.

It’s not the skies flying rapidly by, changing colour with each hour, month, season.

It’s not the sun, revolving around the earth.

It’s not the moon controlling the tides.

It’s not growth, not the blossoming of petals after stark, winter dormancy.

It’s not appreciation of the world in all its forms.

It’s not peace.

Not world connectivity, cultures drawn together, happiness spread.

It’s beans on toast when the skies are grey and the world is cold. It’s steaming beans trickling over warm toast with butter melted on top, and a fried egg, sunny side up, on the corner of the plate. Some mushrooms pile up in another corner. Maybe a little bit of feta too. It’s a mug of delicious hot earl grey with a teaspoon of sugar and a glug of milk, because it’s the weekend and I am indulging.It’s fluffy socks, crossed under the table, as the delicious breakfast is downed slowly, every bite savoured, all washed down with the sweet, flavourful tea. It’s a day stretched out, wonderfully  empty, with no assignments or chores looming ahead. A pile of exciting books by a freshly made bed, crisp sheets, a soft dressing gown. A pretty, glowing lamp in the corner of the living room after a relaxing walk in the cold evening, cheeks red, nose cold. It’s falling asleep to the gentle patter of rain on the window panes, all relaxed and ready for the hectic week ahead.

It’s the little things.




N.B. I can’t wait to move into my own place again so I can experience said precious thing. Living with so many people is starting to take a toll on my sanity.

Well, That Escalated Quickly.

This is what I had for breakfast:

  1. Two wholemeal pieces of toast with butter and honey.
  2. Two hard boiled eggs.
  3. One mug of black coffee.


It will suffice to say that I am very pleased with this meal, and grateful for my blessings, and it is the first proper filling meal I have eaten in two days.

Yesterday at the gym I spent an hour sweating out of every pore on my body, and I positively reeked. I finished 1.5 litres of water, and when I got back I was ravenous. But there were lessons to plan, clients to speak to, assignments to complete, clothes to iron, and a husband to spend time with.

I didn’t.

Spend time with him.

I got very upset because he didn’t acknowledge me when I walked in the door. Just carried on talking to his mother, and his sister, and the goddamn goldfish, and his brother, and his brother again, and upstairs and downstairs.

I was tapping furiously away, dissecting Wordsworth so harshly (I don’t understand the massive hype over the fellow. He strikes me as a selfish person. Maybe I haven’t read enough of him. Who knows.), writing about nature and the ‘inner life’, while my ‘inner life’ was boiling and sizzling away.

I was waiting for him, you see.

By the time he flopped onto the bed, I had wrapped up the first assignment, and was replying to some clients. I turned to him, finally hoping he would see me properly, but he rushed out to brush his teeth.

I went to make his sandwiches for his lunch tomorrow.

By the time I got into bed, he was in that drowsy state where all you can do is mumble.

This morning, he turned off my alarms, and snuck out before I was properly awake.

“So you can sleep,” was his whispered explanation.

Doesn’t he know that I don’t care for sleep when I know I won’t see him all day and only for a few proper seconds come the night?!

I got a kiss, though, and a tight hug that smelled of freshness and leather. Then he was gone. A puff of car exhaust, a flash of white reversing light, a rumble of an engine. He was gone to traverse the country, fight through commuting traffic, to make a living.

Tomorrow, again, his work will claim him first. Then his family will claim him. Then all I will have is a sleepy, drowsy hug and another whiff of perfume in the morning.

I miss my husband. I wish he cared more about prioritising me, as I do him.

I’m cross with him, because he needs to acknowledge me. I am his ruddy wife.

I’m sad and hurt by him, because to me, caring is showing you are happy when you see someone after a long day. I don’t need him to sit and chat with me for hours. Even looking up from what you are doing, and saying hello, and smiling at me, would suffice.


I’m sad.

I rush home from wherever I am when I know he has returned. Should I carry on doing that, while he ignores my existence? Am I being melodramatic? Is it too much to ask, that you give your wife a hug when you return, like you used to do?

There are no excuses. None at all. Just like when I try to make excuses. If I can’t have excuses, neither can you.

Maybe he feels awkward in front of his family to display any sort of affection towards me, but I’m sorry, he does it to everybody else. His mother, his siblings.. It’s been two years. I don’t care about your embarrassment. If I can’t see you at all during the week, the least you will sodding do is give me a darn hug.

Well. That turned into a rant, didn’t it? Oops.


Fifty Fragments

I am not complaining I promise.

Here is a list of things:

  1. Babies are cute. That is established.
  2. Frustration is inevitable.
  3. I am in and out of two homes. My parents and my in-laws.
  4. I have chores in both homes.
  5. I am also juggling a full time course, going to the gym, and tutoring five hours a day.
  6. I need to have more free time to spend evenings with my husband else I will never see him ever as he commutes to work.
  7. There is literally no space for me to study.
  8. Going to the library is effort as I am needed in both homes.
  9. Not all my things are getting done, leaving many parties dissatisfied with me, work incomplete, art untouched.
  10. I never have alone time, leaving me feeling angry and frustrated all the time.
  11. I don’t have time for painting.
  12. I don’t have time for writing.
  13. I don’t have time for friends. Especially friends. I have ignored calls for weeks. It’s getting bad.
  14. My husband is making fun of me because I am acting like I have it so hard.
  15. I am not.
  16. I am just sad because I want my own space and some time to do the things I want to do.
  17. I am also angry because I never get him alone because his family are always at him to do stuff.
  18. Even though there are other people there to do these things.
  19. It’s not wrong for him to do stuff.
  20. But I feel like I have less of him to be my husband, and I am never a priority.
  21. I also rarely see my parents properly.
  22. I also am having increasingly less time to take care of myself.
  23. And eat food.
  24. I am always hungry.
  25. Because I can’t eat bad food.
  26. But nobody has good food.
  27. Or there isn’t enough.
  28. Like today my mum asked if I was staying for dinner.
  29. Which I was.
  30. I said I wasn’t hungry.
  31. She said it’s ok. She just wanted to know, because there wasn’t enough food.
  32. Yesterday, there wasn’t enough food at my in-law’s.
  33. So I said I already ate.
  34. Even though I didn’t.
  35. I mean, that is ok.
  36. It’s fine.
  37. Honestly.
  38. But.
  39. You know.
  40. I just want my own home back.
  41. And to have time to follow my passions.
  42. And not have to bounce between two families.
  43. And live with my husband again.
  44. And have his mother let us be alone sometimes.
  45. I know we are young. And have no kids.
  46. But, you know, it doesn’t mean we don’t have our own lives.
  47. Oh dear.
  48. I think it will be fine.
  49. I just need to adapt.
  50. I will be fine.


Ok, I am complaining. Ha.



Artist credit: Valery Rybakov