26 6 14

In my house downstairs) that morphs into the house I grew up in (upstairs, except the second floor here is the first floor there).  Congregation in the kitchen, entire family in the house. Dad upstairs; mum in kitchen. Dad's wife's kids (maybe one of them is his kid). David invisible but manifested in things. Things piled-up everywhere - I don’t sit still, I organise, attempt to construct (A party?): to engineer a social event.

Andrew's friends are around; I see them outside on the tarmac, in the dark. I read a note that has landed in my hand 'Do you like burning things?' No, I think, but say nothing. Not that I have time. An enormous fire ball is hurtling towards me. Was it Andrew? Was it one of the others? I am unsure, I am shaking, he comes to me and holds me, he apologises but only for the unfortunate incident of the fire (arbitrarily) arriving at me and not for the fire itself. |I feel very far away, we sit for a while in a quiet place before I must return (redress, "re-sist") to the chaotic extremities (the "dangerous boundaries").

People are cutting themselves, (or being cut), wounded, bleeding, I remember others having 'done it'/having had it 'done to them'  when my dad appears, wrapped waist down in a green towel, complaining about having stood on something sharp - a shard - not glass, a small beige hard plastic shard - he pulls it out off his foot, blood pours out, I hastily request that he sits while I nurse his wound (nursing, wounding - seems like the same thing). He maintains a standing position I have to physically move his body, I fear the wound will become infected by the germs on my filthy kitchen floor. I feel oppressed, claustrophobic.

I am looking for antiseptic wipes. I visualise the box - white with a red stripe - and scan the cluttered table. I keep getting distracted. Bridget turns up laden with items of clothing. a bag lady.I can;t remember what we talk about. She joins the congregation around the table. I lift her jacket from a chair and take it to the coat hooks by the front door. It won't stay on the hook, too many items. I start to cry. she is there with me, takes the jacket, deals with it. I look at the ground can barely see my feet i am wading through things. A plastic bag below Dolores' coat hooks, I pick it up and pull out more clothes and finally David's running shoes - spiked like football boots, utterly caked in mud and grass that comes away from the soles in clumps before it starts to flow out of the bag and cover everything. Anger with him for leaving this bag here.

Return to the kitchen. My dad has gone I run upstairs to where he is staying with his wife (who I detest), I reach the op of my house/first floor of the other house - the extension room in which I lived as a teenager with grey walls that I pasted with Calvin Klein perfume adverts that informed a certain idea of beauty and form. I don;t go in; I call out. I hear Louise's voice and the shower (adjacent to the room, grey walls again). On asking the whereabouts of my dad she replies 'he is putting a video on for Sophie'. Sophie is an ultra-feminised little girl who is also here. Not sure to whom she belongs, but she isn't family. A friend of Dolores'? Anyway I am livid because he and she have clearly adopted this child as their own and are 'playing house' (playing, constructing, performing roles). I feel like a sexual object and walk downstairs suspecting she is lying since I can still hear the shower ad I am suspicious of her motives.

<can;t bear the thought that she voted UKIP in the European elections, yet unperturbed by the fact that my dad did. Know him not know her. Forgive him (for he dissimulates behind masks) but not her; she is transparent.>

Return to the kitchen. My mother is sitting between Louise's children who are fake-tanned and grotesquely preened (the opp of my sister and I - his children). She is mocking Louise with the fuel of information from these two cartoonish wicked children, and I am sickened by her naivete. I try to block out the vicious attacks - hating when my issue is extended out and repossessed by another. Is it a way of being closer? I am alone in a bubble in this scenario nothing can enter me. Still searching for the antiseptic wipes - urgent need to tend to my dad's bleeding sole. rummage through table detritus. Find the box - it is two tiered - the top tier contains tiny toys and the bottom one contains medicinal items. Toys and medicines  have become combined and I erupt with anger (feels suppressed), then I notice David sitting with Dolores at my kitchen table.

He proceeds to lecture me about mixing toys and medicines, attacking my parenting again, wounding me discreetly for I shouldn't absorb a word he says and yet i do. He is right, of course, but i trust Dolores and always supervise (I say) and thought she would be supervised now. I concentrate on the items on the table - all I can see, and my hands moving the items around, categorising, organising - with fury, always resisting forces (in this cases multiple forces).