We can only see our lives through other people’s eyes

I think I get stuff done by deliberately ignoring the disorder in my life. Perhaps we all do. I can only finish a comic in a day by being singleminded. I live in my little bubble, not looking into the rooms full of severed heads, ignoring the side of the house that is crumbling down the bank. My friend Emma was explaining the yellow car game to me – how her daughter always saw yellow cars, but she never did, preferring the life inside her mind. In order that she could play the game, she trained herself to notice yellow cars, and now she sees them all the time. But she hates yellow cars. She wishes she’d never invited them to intrude on her thoughts.

My mother has amazing powers of observation, but they come without a filter – all the faults are in just as sharp relief as all the positive things. She did admire my salads, and my new gauzy white blouse, and told me I looked very nice when I was off to a party in a pink dress. She notices every new addition to my wardrobe, even though we only see each other every 6 weeks or so. Still, sometimes I wish my parents could play along, and we could all pretend that nothing is broken in my house, and the dust bunnies just add to its shabby chic charm.