The Contingency Plan

I'm almost hidden in the corner of our living room, surrounded by a mountain of toys and clean laundry, quiety typing. Tired.

The clouds outside are coloured grey and light peach and remind me of a particular hypercoloured t-shirt I lived in as a teen.

Hugo is playing with a variety of trucks on the stairs and Luc's downstairs installing a new sound system in my car. I'm usually in a dance class around now, stretching muscles here, pulling muscles there... but got my times regretably mixed up. I'm still in my dance clothes. Longingly.

Kian and Amelia came over earlier. Luc was out with Hugo and missed most of our conversation. We were all tired. Spirits low. The dark clouds outside reflected our individual moods, even though we weren't complaining.

Our house plans recently fell through. Business has been hard lately. And I'm finding it almost impossible to visualise myself happy and successful.

Luc and I went out for Penelope's birthday on Friday night. The dinner was delicious, but I spent a small portion of the night trying to explain to different people why Luc and I work well as a couple. Friday nights can be generally quite exhausting and we were a little tipsy, but Luc doesn't communicate well, especially with new people. He's ellusive, talks in riddles and short, closed sentences, can't be assed to explain things (like what he does for work) and unnecessarily contradicts lots of what I say. People expressed bewilderment at our union. It was disheartening.

We were supposed to go to a cocktail party held by a client of mine last night (Saturday), but I was almost relieved to discover Hugo had head lice moments before we were to leave. It meant I wouldn't see that side of Luc again.

Treating Hugo's head with medicated hair mousse, then picking and combing out the dead lice and eggs was one of the most disgusting things I've done, but better than dealing with another frustrating social engagement with my unsocial partner.

Poor Hugo! How could he get lice, usually kids get it from school from the "unclean" kid. You know the type, there's one in every class.

Two words: school holidays.

His usual playground was packed with kids and we stayed for about three hours the day he got them so he could hang with some local peeps.

Little bastards.