So… My laptop is fucked. I fear it’s very sick. It won’t let me type one letter without several random digits and alphabetical signallers appearing. And Chrome is just psycho: throwing up all sorts of uncalled for programs and pages. Great. Now I’m typing on my phone. #thumbache
When did I last write? Thursday? Good Thursday. A lot has happened since then. Well, a lot in my New York Minute.
So, (I open a lot of paragraphs with So… ) there was an arrangement to meet with the HR Manager from my work on Friday morning. Of course, I got myself into a right state and ended up being twenty minutes late. I was more worried about letting my mam down who was meeting me there than the HRM (funny that, Her Royal Majesty) being inconvenienced. But she wasn’t annoyed with me, only calming (she handed me Rescue Remedy as soon as I walked into the boardroom – interview set up much?) and supportive. Why do I always think people will be annoyed with me?
I’ve just restarted the laptop. Please, God of IT. Please let it work.
Nadia Forde is squealing on the TV. She sounds like one of the rats who was just humping on her boobs.
Anyway, there’s no budging on my sick pay. I’m not suffering from a critical illness. Go to their doctor’s. We’ll support you going back to the job, gradually, maybe job share might be an idea. Oh, and by the way, someone in work is concerned about your blog. Sorry, what? Back up… Somebody who felt they couldn’t say it to me themselves. To say I am disappointed would be a massive understatement. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’ve really figured out who deserves the reciprocation of my friendship over the last few months and some people I felt I had been a good friend to have been conspicuous by their absence.
Was Edwina Currie not on this before?
Am I being super sensitive? Or have I been a doormat? Why is it anybody else’s business? I’m not ashamed, embarrassed or regretful of anything I’ve written here. I’m certainly not ashamed of exposing the ugly truth behind my bubbly façade and if one person, be they fifteen or forty seven, reads this and finds the courage to talk to someone instead of taking a load of pills then who cares who knows what about me?
Honestly. Second guessing myself over being human, seeking help and speaking out. This is why suicide rates in this country are so high: because we’re not supposed to admit to our weaknesses.
Anyway, Monet, The Artist and I saw The Imitation Game on Friday night, purely by accident, as we had planned a French movie at the IFI but none of us, bring the creative, airy fairy types (well two former teachers and an ex accountant) were foresighted enough to book in advance, not anticipating all the other hipsters and cultured Francophiles in the city.
It was one of those films that leaves you angry. Poor Alan Turing. Watch it. You’ll be irate.
Bloody laptop. Bollocks. Curse of God on it.
I ran two and a half miles yesterday. It was hard work. Today I got a massive temporary headache and managed only a dog walk. But three dogs (we’re at home with the fam so I had Sigmund too) is a tough gig when one of them likes to literally entwine you in her lead – I’m looking at you AnnaPuppy…
After the incredibly poor performance by a certain East Coast rugby team (a win is a win, I know), ElsaDaughter and I came home. I slept for nine hours straight. Nothing like a freshly made mammy bed to soothe the soul.
This evening I called to The Librarian and Zara Phillips. #heartlifting. I want The Librarian to guest blog for me. But you’ll all love her writing more than mine. She’s a million times more articulate and intelligent than Dotty. And charismatic.
So here I am, melting in front of the fire, no idea who went from Strictly, wondering what tomorrow will bring with it. An early start, a day at Posh’s, hopefully a run, hopefully good news about tax rebates (although that may take a while) and less guilt about being a crap friend, crap emoloyee.
The plan is for December to be a productive month. To have a plan in place for the New Year and to write more than a glorified, over sharing diary. And tomorrow is December 1st. So yeah, let’s do this.