I am just about to leave my parents’ house to get the train back to Dublin. My poor husband and children have not seen me all weekend. My mother is sad to see me go – my father is too, in his own way, I’m sure though I suspect it is a mild relief that no one will leave the doors open once I go. I hardly saw my beloved aunt who lives next door to my parents. I did not get to tidy out my old room (task list from 1993) or sort out my poor sister’s broken car window. And I have work papers in my bag that I will have to read on the train because staying late at work is a luxury I no longer enjoy. Sometimes it feels like there just isn’t enough of me to go around.