Write what you know

Write what you know, they say. I know nothing. I am nearly 50 with a child, a husband and a house. What do I know. How the washing machine works. That’s a manual not a novel. I am less capable with the iron. I don’t ‘know ‘ the iron so you are spared the nuances of it. Lucky you. I can sew a badge on a blazer-hardly likely to grip you for too long. How did I get here? This isn’t what I wanted. Trapped in rigid urban stereotype. Write what you know. The cat needs to be vaccinated in October. The tap in the sink in the kitchen is leaking. Has been for twelve months. The Factory Shop sells cheap coat hangers. Are you impressed yet?

I hate driving in traffic. It makes me nervous-would you like to explore why? No me either. I have a past. I don’t think about it. Unless I want to avoid thinking of the present and the future. Write what you know. My child’s school shoes don’t fit anymore. Her trainers have holes. I am not sure what she is going to eat for lunch next week. Wait- is that something I know or don’t know. At last  a deep philosophical question. Or not. English supermarkets sell Irish potato scones and not Scottish ones-There’s a tidbit for a pub quiz. Are you dazzled by my intellectual contribution yet. 

We are nearly out of butter. The yoghurt in the fridge is out of Code. The water bottle on the table has water from the shop and not from our tap. I haven’t finished it or reused it yet. In the drawer in the dining room is a packet of 100 straws, with about 80 left, because my child reuses them. I hate washing straws. I never dry my hair. The hair dryer is for when I paint my nails. Everyone knows cold water is better, except for me, not me. Write what you know. I tell myself this is living. Because no one I know is doing anything else. I rage at the monotony of it all but there is no escape.

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