As of 21:30 last night, I had been abandoned. Daughter tucked up in bed, baby boy fast asleep in his buggy downstairs and DaddyBear had turned in for the night. This could be construed as the perfect opportunity for some Me-time. But it wasn't.
Apart from a severe allergy to going to bed so early that you can still taste your dessert, I was nominated (!) to stay up just until BabyBear awoke for his next change/feed. No point turning in before that - he'd be awake in an hour at most.
Well, to cut a long story short, that's how it got to 1am before my head hit the pillow. And not because he finally woke up, because I gave up waiting! Lucky I did as he didn't wake 'til 5am!
So, a very tired me went to bed grumpy only to be woken by DaddyBear when his alarm went off, again when he slammed the shower door, again when he dropped a coat hanger onto our wooden bedroom floor...you get the picture. This meant that BabyBear also awoke and the day began waaaaay too early.
Despite the extra preparation time, we still ended up in a rush to get to school slightly late. Bugger. This meant I grabbed the car seat (and now sleeping contents!) and heaved it all the way to the main school entrance in order to sign my daughter in as 'late'.
I would say I reached the brink of insanity when the Late Book asked for my "Reason for Lateness". It seemed a stupid question. Why does anyone arrive at their destination 3 minutes later than intended? Which of the contributory factors from my erghy morning did they want to hear about? The pooey leaky nappy? The last minute feed as we should have been out the door? The tractors/learner drivers/old folk who dawdle their way in front of us for as much of our journey as they can manage? I plumped for the most succinct response I could muster on 4 hours sleep: Life!
Following my pithy answer and successful delivery of my sprog to her educational establishment, I was just beginning my decent into the pool of peaceful accomplishment. Enter said caretaker. He'd locked the gate I needed to use to reduce my trudge back to the car by about half. Grrrr. Then mumbled in the opposite direction about how I'm not allowed to park in that car park anyway.
I always feel honestly is the very best policy. So I opted to advise this crap weasel that I didn't care a jot. Rather than detect the warning signs all around him - my barely-open eyes, grey complexion and straining muscles - he took his life is his own hands and dared to 'passive-aggressive' me! "I'll remember that".
Oh really Mr Caretaker! Grrr. Fume. Growl. So many things rushing through my mind, desperately looking for a way out through my mouth and into the playground. If I hadn't been carrying a car seat full off baby, his life came close to ending via the means at my disposal - death by bike rack/school gate/flower pot!
I took the high road and walked away, leaving him in perfect health. But I can't promise he'll survive another run in like that.
Friday, 2 November 2012
Monday, 13 August 2012
Erm...
I sit here. Boyfriend out of the way. Baby sleeping soundly. Pretty Woman for background company. Laptop in front of me (iPad & mobile adjacent).
I am literate. Highly-opinionated. Articulate by nature. A true lover of language and expression.
And I find myself on mute. Nothing to say. Or rather, no specific subject in mind. Why is this?
I can only surmise that it is, in fact, caused by having too many things to say. Having just (9.5 weeks ago but I'm sure I can get away with 'just' for a little while longer) had a baby, I have spent the best part of a year with a brain made of holes held loosely together by disorganised nonsense and baby-related bunkem. Now the fog has lifted and I can't hone in on ONE sensible thread as there is a myriad thoughts which, once forming an orderly queue, awaiting their moment of glorious expression, now like toddlers - one enormous, undiscernible rabble (covered in dribble).
One can only hope this will pass as the knot untangles and the threads return to coherent thoughts & opinions.
Watch this space...my next blog could be about cucumbers, jet engines or the state of modern telephone directories.
Interesting times ahead.
I am literate. Highly-opinionated. Articulate by nature. A true lover of language and expression.
And I find myself on mute. Nothing to say. Or rather, no specific subject in mind. Why is this?
I can only surmise that it is, in fact, caused by having too many things to say. Having just (9.5 weeks ago but I'm sure I can get away with 'just' for a little while longer) had a baby, I have spent the best part of a year with a brain made of holes held loosely together by disorganised nonsense and baby-related bunkem. Now the fog has lifted and I can't hone in on ONE sensible thread as there is a myriad thoughts which, once forming an orderly queue, awaiting their moment of glorious expression, now like toddlers - one enormous, undiscernible rabble (covered in dribble).
One can only hope this will pass as the knot untangles and the threads return to coherent thoughts & opinions.
Watch this space...my next blog could be about cucumbers, jet engines or the state of modern telephone directories.
Interesting times ahead.
Friday, 3 August 2012
Silence is golden?
I'm not impressed. It's fair to say that I am usually an advocate of modern technology, of advancements which render our lives that bit easier/more fun/more efficient.
Take, for example, the iPad. Amazing invention which no-one actually needs and yet everyone wants. But what really impresses is the strange turn of events which follows the acquisition of said technological wonder. It becomes instantly indispensable. "How did we ever live without it?"
Do not mistake me - being able to watch TV/listen to music/look-up a recipe/engage via the current plethora of social media from the comfort of your own sofa/kitchen/loo is a privilege which should be made available to all. Very handy. And instantly indispensable.
However, I have a gripe. Typing on a touchscreen is a soulless experience. There is something missing. It just feels wrong somehow. And then it dawns on me. There is no satisfying 'tap tap' from the keyboard. The little clicks that mark your constant progress across the page. The comforting sound that harks back to the days of typewriters, ribbons and manual carriage returns "ding". Yes, "keyboard sounds" are available on all modern devices nowadays but their synthetic plinks and plonks are worse than this enforced and soulless silence.
So, as I 'type' away on my iPad, occasionally making my own taps each time I catch my fingernails on the screen, it dawns on me that there is, in fact, one single advantage to this muffled prose - my sleeping baby remains just that, asleep.
Take, for example, the iPad. Amazing invention which no-one actually needs and yet everyone wants. But what really impresses is the strange turn of events which follows the acquisition of said technological wonder. It becomes instantly indispensable. "How did we ever live without it?"
Do not mistake me - being able to watch TV/listen to music/look-up a recipe/engage via the current plethora of social media from the comfort of your own sofa/kitchen/loo is a privilege which should be made available to all. Very handy. And instantly indispensable.
However, I have a gripe. Typing on a touchscreen is a soulless experience. There is something missing. It just feels wrong somehow. And then it dawns on me. There is no satisfying 'tap tap' from the keyboard. The little clicks that mark your constant progress across the page. The comforting sound that harks back to the days of typewriters, ribbons and manual carriage returns "ding". Yes, "keyboard sounds" are available on all modern devices nowadays but their synthetic plinks and plonks are worse than this enforced and soulless silence.
So, as I 'type' away on my iPad, occasionally making my own taps each time I catch my fingernails on the screen, it dawns on me that there is, in fact, one single advantage to this muffled prose - my sleeping baby remains just that, asleep.
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
Distance
I wonder whether we are supposed to think of distance in the same way as we consider age - just a number. If we are, then the number is a mere 5355 miles. Nothing really. Except it is so much more than a number.
It's really not just the inconvenience. Well, having said that, I could have done with him being here when I came home to no electricity. When I realised there were far too many lightbulbs that need replacing. When I noticed the over-flowing bins. When I couldn't be bothered sorting the dirty washing. When I felt chilly curled up on the sofa.
It isn't even the fact that I'm on my own. I quite enjoy my own company (if I do say so myself). I can manage to concoct my own dinner. Do the shopping. Watch some TV. Scout for films. Chat to friends & family. Avoid housework (at all costs).
I miss him.
Not in a pathetic way. He's my buddy. My bear. My true love. And today is only Day One. From tomorrow he moves even further away - 11412 miles! And there are 13 more days to go...
It's really not just the inconvenience. Well, having said that, I could have done with him being here when I came home to no electricity. When I realised there were far too many lightbulbs that need replacing. When I noticed the over-flowing bins. When I couldn't be bothered sorting the dirty washing. When I felt chilly curled up on the sofa.
It isn't even the fact that I'm on my own. I quite enjoy my own company (if I do say so myself). I can manage to concoct my own dinner. Do the shopping. Watch some TV. Scout for films. Chat to friends & family. Avoid housework (at all costs).
I miss him.
Not in a pathetic way. He's my buddy. My bear. My true love. And today is only Day One. From tomorrow he moves even further away - 11412 miles! And there are 13 more days to go...
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
T-bloody-mesis
Tmesis. What a great word (for one) and (secondly) what a fabulous little linguistic phenomenon.
Anyway...why is it that I think of great things to blog about when I am up to my eyes in something yet when the time comes for a little literary musing, my mind is blank. The nugget of knowledge that once had entered my mind has become hidden under a proverbial pile of paperwork in the in-tray of my life.
I could witter about current affairs, recent cinematic experiences, life's ups-and-downs. But that would be dull. So I shall refrain and return to my author's cap another day.
Anyway...why is it that I think of great things to blog about when I am up to my eyes in something yet when the time comes for a little literary musing, my mind is blank. The nugget of knowledge that once had entered my mind has become hidden under a proverbial pile of paperwork in the in-tray of my life.
I could witter about current affairs, recent cinematic experiences, life's ups-and-downs. But that would be dull. So I shall refrain and return to my author's cap another day.
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
If in doubt, get out
I've tried every single position but no joy. Under the covers. On top. With a pillow. Without. Pyjamas. Birthday suit. And now I've given up. I just can't sleep.
It's easy to treat the symptoms and forget to look for the cause which is what I tried for some hours. Now at after 3:00am when I will be up at 7:00am, I find myself writing in an attempt to begin eradicating the cause. However, when it comes to a list as long as the M4 of general life-related stresses, this is merely the equivalent of a first dose of radiotherapy with a lot more work to be done to resolve a problem which many never conquer.
Work sucks. Now I know that that is a familiar refrain and were I unfortunate enough to have a job involving handling dead things or any form of waste products, most would take my statement at face value and understand immediately. However, as my job (thankfully) does not force me to gut fish or analyse stool samples, I may simply be seen as yet another whinger. Far from it. What makes work suck so considerably is that I loved my job. And now I don't. Or rather, I am unable to get on with my work the way I always have (with a certain degree of autonomy as I was fortunate enough to have been born with a fully-functioning brain and earned my common-sense badge on Day One). Instead I am forced to partake in a work-by-numbers exercise, very much marched to a tune I barely recognise any longer, surrounded by people I am either unable to help (as it is not written in the Rules) or couldn't give two hoots about. Work sucks.
I hate money. I always used to hate it largely because I had none. Well, I had just enough to pay half of my bills each month, eat like a mouse and pay for the petrol to get me to work to earn the money to pay half of my bills... Now that I have some, I still hate it. I still find myself wishing I could pull a 'Tom & Barbara' and live a blissfully simple life trading eggs for sugar, carrots for loo roll and a smile for whatever I can get! But, alas, they only managed to achieve their 'Good Life' because they had had plenty of money previously and thus owned an enormous house and garden outright. To be honest, without a huge rent/mortgage payment each month, who couldn't enjoy their life to a far greater extent? I know I blooming well could, without having to convert my garden into a potato farm.
And if work and money weren't bad enough, there's always job-hunting to add to the list of woes. Not for me (well, not until this evening as a way of cleansing myself of the hideous day I had endured). The biggest problem, it seems, is looking for a job when you a) don't want one (not because you want to slack off watching Jeremy Kyle, rather you don't want to work for someone else) and b) you have no idea what you want to do. This is posing a problem for the man in my life and as the garden leave has come to an end, we are now living on borrowed time before my second point - Money - becomes a real pain in the ass. Furthermore, my delicious daydreams earlier of walking out of the office and never going back are far more dream than reality when it pays 100% of our current income. I couldn't feel more imprisoned if I worked for HMP.
All of the above (and a hundred other bug-bears) account for it being nearly 4:00am with me wide-awake, unable to drift off into my slumber. Here's hoping the glass of milk I have just consumed and the aromatherapy sleep potion I have applied liberally to my pillow will at least ease the symptoms enough to out-weigh the stresses which are fast-becoming my nemeses.
It's easy to treat the symptoms and forget to look for the cause which is what I tried for some hours. Now at after 3:00am when I will be up at 7:00am, I find myself writing in an attempt to begin eradicating the cause. However, when it comes to a list as long as the M4 of general life-related stresses, this is merely the equivalent of a first dose of radiotherapy with a lot more work to be done to resolve a problem which many never conquer.
Work sucks. Now I know that that is a familiar refrain and were I unfortunate enough to have a job involving handling dead things or any form of waste products, most would take my statement at face value and understand immediately. However, as my job (thankfully) does not force me to gut fish or analyse stool samples, I may simply be seen as yet another whinger. Far from it. What makes work suck so considerably is that I loved my job. And now I don't. Or rather, I am unable to get on with my work the way I always have (with a certain degree of autonomy as I was fortunate enough to have been born with a fully-functioning brain and earned my common-sense badge on Day One). Instead I am forced to partake in a work-by-numbers exercise, very much marched to a tune I barely recognise any longer, surrounded by people I am either unable to help (as it is not written in the Rules) or couldn't give two hoots about. Work sucks.
I hate money. I always used to hate it largely because I had none. Well, I had just enough to pay half of my bills each month, eat like a mouse and pay for the petrol to get me to work to earn the money to pay half of my bills... Now that I have some, I still hate it. I still find myself wishing I could pull a 'Tom & Barbara' and live a blissfully simple life trading eggs for sugar, carrots for loo roll and a smile for whatever I can get! But, alas, they only managed to achieve their 'Good Life' because they had had plenty of money previously and thus owned an enormous house and garden outright. To be honest, without a huge rent/mortgage payment each month, who couldn't enjoy their life to a far greater extent? I know I blooming well could, without having to convert my garden into a potato farm.
And if work and money weren't bad enough, there's always job-hunting to add to the list of woes. Not for me (well, not until this evening as a way of cleansing myself of the hideous day I had endured). The biggest problem, it seems, is looking for a job when you a) don't want one (not because you want to slack off watching Jeremy Kyle, rather you don't want to work for someone else) and b) you have no idea what you want to do. This is posing a problem for the man in my life and as the garden leave has come to an end, we are now living on borrowed time before my second point - Money - becomes a real pain in the ass. Furthermore, my delicious daydreams earlier of walking out of the office and never going back are far more dream than reality when it pays 100% of our current income. I couldn't feel more imprisoned if I worked for HMP.
All of the above (and a hundred other bug-bears) account for it being nearly 4:00am with me wide-awake, unable to drift off into my slumber. Here's hoping the glass of milk I have just consumed and the aromatherapy sleep potion I have applied liberally to my pillow will at least ease the symptoms enough to out-weigh the stresses which are fast-becoming my nemeses.
2011 - This is the year
Or at least it is supposed to be.
So how did this year begin? A year that felt as though it were the first spring dawn after a harsh winter. A year which brought much-anticipated hope; a release from the weights of 2010. A year in which our lives would crank up a notch - careers, family, finances. This oh-so-special year began when I fell in a river on New Year's Day whilst out hill-walking with my family and the future 'in-laws', of course. Perfect. The wonderful evening which followed involved baking my phone on a radiator until it was safe to replace the battery without fear of combustion, trying desperately to warm my cockles (bum, legs and feet to be more anatomically precise) and wondering whether the ankle agony would keep me company throughout 2011 or was merely a house-guest for the end of the festive period.
Of course, things have improved in the last four days. The ankle has regained movement (minus the excruciating pain) however said pain seems to have stopped-off in my foot and is making itself comfortable for a longer stay than was anticipated. Bugger. And that's about it. Possibly the only silver lining so far.
Today...I returned to work after a glorious two-week break. And as if it weren't enough of a shock to the system, our inspirational, motivational, "New year, fresh opportunities"-team briefing didn't quite hit the mark. No, I exaggerate the positivity of this activity. In fact, it was atrocious. Talk about kicking you when you're not just down but already looking for that bright light and the beckoning of angels to draw you away from the horrors of reality!
No-one's allowed to be ill, need a routine medical appointment, make plans for outside of working hours (which seem to have crept up by another half an hour or so each day), have a life, family or any interests which cannot be pursued whilst also working. Lovely. The fact that half of it is blatantly in contravention of employment law isn't even the worst of it. It all seems to boil down to the fact that I have clearly, although inadvertently, signed my soul away to the Beelzebub and in so doing have taken a vow of a) no fun whatsoever, and b) only ever look after number one, screw anyone else because it is you who will receive a b***ocking if you fail to be sufficiently blood-thirsty. Happy New Year!
So how did this year begin? A year that felt as though it were the first spring dawn after a harsh winter. A year which brought much-anticipated hope; a release from the weights of 2010. A year in which our lives would crank up a notch - careers, family, finances. This oh-so-special year began when I fell in a river on New Year's Day whilst out hill-walking with my family and the future 'in-laws', of course. Perfect. The wonderful evening which followed involved baking my phone on a radiator until it was safe to replace the battery without fear of combustion, trying desperately to warm my cockles (bum, legs and feet to be more anatomically precise) and wondering whether the ankle agony would keep me company throughout 2011 or was merely a house-guest for the end of the festive period.
Of course, things have improved in the last four days. The ankle has regained movement (minus the excruciating pain) however said pain seems to have stopped-off in my foot and is making itself comfortable for a longer stay than was anticipated. Bugger. And that's about it. Possibly the only silver lining so far.
Today...I returned to work after a glorious two-week break. And as if it weren't enough of a shock to the system, our inspirational, motivational, "New year, fresh opportunities"-team briefing didn't quite hit the mark. No, I exaggerate the positivity of this activity. In fact, it was atrocious. Talk about kicking you when you're not just down but already looking for that bright light and the beckoning of angels to draw you away from the horrors of reality!
No-one's allowed to be ill, need a routine medical appointment, make plans for outside of working hours (which seem to have crept up by another half an hour or so each day), have a life, family or any interests which cannot be pursued whilst also working. Lovely. The fact that half of it is blatantly in contravention of employment law isn't even the worst of it. It all seems to boil down to the fact that I have clearly, although inadvertently, signed my soul away to the Beelzebub and in so doing have taken a vow of a) no fun whatsoever, and b) only ever look after number one, screw anyone else because it is you who will receive a b***ocking if you fail to be sufficiently blood-thirsty. Happy New Year!
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