Odd sensation being cut off from my imaginary friends. Even if it is at least partially self imposed. It’s not that I don’t like spending time with my family, I do, but it’s also that I miss those moments when, even virtually, I can step outside my life and lean across into someone else’s. Because the grass is always greener isn’t it?
Someone else has got the miraculously self cleaning house, or perhaps the self sorting washing pile, or crockery that washes itself and then climbs into the cupboard. I think it’s the laundry that gets to me though, the never ending succession of half inside out chocolate stained t shirts, and trousers with pants still clinging inside.
Or is that only in our house?
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