Confessions of a scatter-brain

Why was it, thought Dee, that she was so emotionally charged from day through to her night. It was odd how it sometimes felt that there were two people in her head. Perhaps if she thought things out more logically with facts and truths then surely life would improve.

It was later in the day, when she tried to figure out what should have been a straight forward knitting plan,that Dee wondered how she might ever put everything right with her family life.
She'd swore, quietly, as she sat on the sofa casting her knitting pattern on the cherry red floor followed by her knitting needles and almost new ball of wool that rolled and settled beside Henry's paws.
He cast up his eyes and wagged his tail stretched out his long black body before standing up and rushing to the living room door. He cried and looked back at her and the wall that rolled across the floor to settle where the omni-bus edition of Coronation Street lingered on.
She might call on Boris, who scuttled around in her head, then make a decision on facts instead of being emotionally challenged.

It was said that sticks and stones, when she was a child four decades ago, that sticks and stones could break your bones but names would never hurt you. At the Junior School where she'd gone to the teachers told their charges that they should never ever hit back and respect their elders and speak when only they were spoken to.

There would have been little chance of her answering the teacher, who miserably tried to teach her to knit even a childs sock never mind carry on to make two. Frankly that sort of dominant teaching wasn't any sort of help at all. Cheating happened then; with knitting that her new step-father had stepped in to do. However, this teacher sooned found her out with her perfect knitting that hung very well from her needles. Dee had got this so incredibly wrong when her knitting should have been plain instead of one row of plain followed by one pearl. Dee had been forced to start again. All these memories flooded back as she looked at the free Daily Mail pattern now screwed up tight in the bin in the sitting room.