How Can You Argue With Yourself?

I have spent today failing out with myself.
No, I don’t suffer from a multiple personality disorder, well, except for maybe one week out of every month.
But today I seem to have had to battle, long and hard, with the ‘voices’ in my head.
We have been decorating lately. My two children’s rooms were supposed to be decorated over three years ago.
“Just let’s get the kitchen finished and I’ll do your rooms.”
We were having the kitchen done when my son was diagnosed with cancer.
Needless to say, we didn’t go on to decorate their rooms (or any other room for that matter).
Since we’ve recently lifted our heads from the cancer blur, we couldn’t help but notice what an utter grot-bag of a house we dwell in.

The children’s room are now finished and are lovely.
We’ve had the front of the house painted and it too, is lovely.
All I had to do was a couple of coats of gloss paint on the front door – Easy! Yes? No!
First of all, it’s autumn in England, which means only one thing – grey, cold and drizzling rain. Not really conducive for drying paint.

Also, I needed to prop the front door open all day – not really conducive to my personal safety, if you saw where I live.
Now, before the ‘positive thought’ police start moaning “you get what you think about – feel in danger and you will be,”

No people!! I am POSITIVE I live in a rough area.
It’s so rough the pizza delivery men come in two’s and every gritty documentary maker worth his salt has my town on their ‘to-do’ list.

Unperturbed and ignoring my mum’s sweet pleas of “why not wait until the weekend when your husbands at home…”
I carried on and had a newly painted front door by lunchtime. It stood glossy, proud and propped open.

Next, I was clearing out the under the stairs. This is when it all started going very wrong.
Our ‘under the stairs’ cupboard looks fine the anyone who sees the front of it – general cleaning stuff, paperwork and various bottles – water, wine and vodka (what else could you want? ha ha).
Nothing unusual, until you look around the corner and then it is ceiling to floor crammed with ‘stuff’ – what ‘stuff’ I have no idea. It’s the kind of cupboard where things get put to ‘die’ – they’re not really wanted, but the owner just can’t face saying goodbye.

Anyway, I’m pulling out bags, boxes and toys, saying to myself “What on earth is that? And when did I put this here?” 
When, I suddenly begin to notice scurrying. Not big scurrying like a mouse but smaller more shadow like … oh crap…it’s a spider….no…hang on….. Its lots of spiders…and they’re running around the floor in every direction.
 I look up and see there are spiders webs everywhere – I’ve got a whole bloody ‘spider village’ living in my cupboard – this is ok for me because I’m not afraid of spiders at all.
So why has my heart started beating faster? – I run and get the hoover – wait I don’t kill spiders – they are Gods creatures too and its bad karmic debt – I power on the hoover – I start demolishing cobwebs and sucking up the little eight legged critters – just as well that I’m not afraid of spiders – why have I started to itch? my flesh seems to be crawling.
As more and more spiders and their webs get whizzed into the hoover. I start to relax a bit - I’m in control and after all, its not as if I’m scared of spiders – there’s something crawling up my trouser leg – oh bloody hell – the hoover gets thrown across the hall as I frantically pull my trouser leg up to try and stop it going any further – calm down! your not afraid of…- oh shit – I cant get to the spider, so I'm frantically undoing and pulling my trousers down  – WAIT!!! The front doors propped open, you drop your trousers here and the whole street will see – so I hopped into the back room before hysterically disrobing, screaming and searching for the spider which by now I had imagined must be the size of a tarantula. I searched and searched but I could find no spider on my leg – no that’s because it’s on my shoulder...

I spent the next 10 minutes brushing off hundreds of imaginary spiders.
By now I’m really shaky but those bloody ‘voice’s’ kept banging on – but you’re not even afraid of spiders, what’s the problem? –

The ‘wimpy’ side cant help ‘seeing’ that every box and bag will be filled with spiders or worse and if the poisonous spiders (England doesn’t have poisonous spiders) don’t get me, the crazy, knife welding madman will – the one who’s just going to walk straight in, through your propped open door.
The ‘sergeant major side’ of me is having a field day – you gonna let a few tiny spiders put you off – for gods sake woman, your tougher than this. What you gonna do, wait till your husband gets home to help you clean a tiny cupboard?
Are you really gonna ruin that paint work by shutting the door too early? – What are you woman or mouse?

I close the cupboard and kick the front door shut -
     Oh squeak, bloody squeak!


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