It’s a Saturday morning. I’m at my kids’ swimming lesson. Except I’m down one kid on since my defiant 5 year old refused to get dressed. Instead it was “Why do I *always* have to brush my teeth/hair/get dressed?” in her very best whiny voice accompanied by much slumping and general go-slowedness, so in the end I left her at home with her father. I will make sure to get a special treat for the more cooperative child on the way home just to rub it in that she misses out by not cooperating. None of this ‘forgive and forget’ rubbish for me.
Although it’s a Saturday, and I’m wearing trackies and runners, I’ve still slicked on some makeup this morning. As I do nearly every day, now. Once upon a time I would have gone out completely barefaced. I wouldn’t dream of it now. I hate the way my face looks now. It’s blotchy and red and all uneven looking. When did I grow to hate my face?
I’m overdressed for work this morning in skirt, top, blazer and opaque stockings. The brisk walk to the train station has left me a bit sweaty and my hair — which I spent several minutes on this morning — has gone all crazy. Looking at my shadow, I seem to have a pointy bit at the top with the rest of it sticking out every which way. My makeup is slowly melting off my face.
So I am, more or less, the very image of corporate glamour.
I’ve sat upstairs in the carriage today, instead of my usual vestibule area. It’s a totally different class of pepple up here, I tells ya. Everyone keeps to themselves and you can actually hear the announcements that are made over the speakers, since it’s very quiet. Not like the noisy riff-raff downstairs!
Still. I miss my riff-raffish cronies. At least they are worth watching.
While waiting for the train this morning (the Late One again), I decided to amuse myself with thoughts of what I’d do if I didn’t have to go to work today.
Could not think of one worthwhile thing.
I’m starting to worry my brain is becoming vestigial. Or maybe I’ve always been this unimaginitive lump of flesh, and I’m only now just figuring it out. It’s a worry, I tell ya.
I wonder if my hoardes of readers have missed me?
This is what happens when you have children. They get sick and you take great swathes of time off work and hope you don’t catch whatever it is they’ve got. Then you go back to work and people ask you, sneeringly, if you had a good holiday.
I’m dreading returning to work today. And not just because I fear I’m going to get a summons to school to pick up another sick kid. My middle kid has been trying to bung a day off this week, although I suspect he’s not actually unwell.
Last week I at least caught up on my studies. An achievement in itself because my motivation is currently incredibly low. My plan is to use the studies to springboard into another field, but at the moment it all feels rather pointless. I can’t see it helping me at all. I also spent some time last week looking at future employment prospects, and I can’t say that anything really thrills me. Just more and more drudgery.
Possibly I’m tying my self-worth to my employability a little too much, but at this point in my life I don’t really have anywhere else to tie it.
Yes. Not really a happy camper this week.
Today I’m handing in my notice at work. At least, that is my intention. Nothing dramatic, mind you. I’m a temp and am letting them know I’ll continue the contract until Nov.
All the same – eep!
This morning as I took a pause in the morning rush of getting kids and self ready for school/work, I sighed and told the kids we should run away and join the circus.
My 5-year-old piped up with “Mum, the circus is very hard work, you know. Maybe we should just go and see the circus instead.”
Sheesh. Talk about dashing my dreams.
I am assuming there is one on somewhere nearby this afternoon, as there is an inordinate number of Very Tall People around. I think I saw that guy from The Simpsons. I couldn’t say for sure though, because he looks a bit different when he’s not a cartoon.