Have had a very challenging day and am not feeling particularly in the mood to blog much. It all started at 8.00 when I got to work and was welcomed by an email from my father, in response to my call to him yesterday. The upshot of this is that the email he sent last week was a false friend. Any pretence at an olive branch was sent to fish information from me which has been chucked right back in my face. I was totally shocked. The calls I made to him later went rapidly downhill as I was so incensed. It has come as a complete blow that all this time, he has been aiding and abetting my poisonous mother and that they would rather add to my stress at the moment than alleviate it. I mentioned yesterday that her timing was lousy as K’s dad is so ill, and he accused me of emotional blackmail…again, his standards may be that low but I would personally never consider using something like that to ‘bolster my case’. The facts are pretty clear – I have a very unpleasant family and am actually better off away from them and their toxic (read vindictive) behaviour. That all said, it’s not nice to face up to the fact that any hopes (however slight) of a reconciliation have been dashed.
Have felt alternately sick and full of rage all day. Am leaving shortly as I am next to useless and have done all the candidate work that needed done today. One of those days that I wish I could say had never happened; but it has.
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Monday, 29 June 2009
The perils of drunk dialing..
Tis Monday, the sun is shining and all is not so well in my world! Well, it could definitely be worse but still…
Friday was fine. I registered our marriage and pottered all day and had a fine old time. K came back on Saturday around lunchtime and it was a pleasure to have him back. That said, he had received the sad news from a nurse the day before that his father is pretty much on his last legs so the next 2 weeks or so are going to be pretty stressful. They have opted for palliative care for him now, given that there is little chance of him making a recovery of any sort, but as for timings we can only just wait and see and pray that he has peaceful and painless days until the end.
Having spent a week in Southampton on his own, K and I were just relieved to get some time together and relax. We did pretty much the same on Sunday, with a trip to Greenwich as it was such lovely weather. All would have been fine (though subdued given the sadness over his dad) had my mother not decided to text out of the blue. Suffice to say the fact that it arrived in the early hours of Saturday morning, suggesting strongly that she was very drunk. The content was abusive, rambling and stopped abruptly, so she had either passed out at that point or given up. In summary, it was much the same as the usual rubbish, with additional demands over my returning the deposit for my flat sooner rather than later and the new revelation that I have been cut out of their will. Nice. Not.
Rather than blowing my top (my initial and very strong instinct!!), I waited until lunchtime today to call my dad and ask him to ask her to desist. He didn’t answer his mobile so I left a message and am awaiting a call back. I suspect I may have a long wait as I decided that the nature of his recent email meant he could have done one of 2 things. Either he sent it as a fishing exercise, so that I would divulge information and give them new ammunition, or he sent it to try and mend fences but my mother didn’t like the content of my reply and responded in her own inimitable fashion without his blessing. Either way, I feel he ought to be given a chance to tell me rather than me presuming I know that he was being malicious. I really do hope he contacted me in innocence and with good intentions and that the drunken drivel from her was of her own doing. We shall see, but if nothing else, he will at least have to interrogate her first about the content if he is unaware.
So, having dealt with all this, I am pleased to say that I am definitely still dry. Yip, over 2 months now and counting!! Perhaps the message simply reinforced how dreadful drunk people can be, reminding me why I don’t ever want to get like that again. My mother may, much to her chagrin if she knew, have actually done me a favour!!! I didn’t even contemplate a drink as I felt so much stronger being virtuous and resisting the temptation to drown my sorrows. I was actually quite elated that I no longer got myself in such a state and was only reminded of the many, many times she has abused me when sozzled in the past. It is a shame if this is a sign of my bridge-building with the family having failed, but it may also be an indication of them no longer ‘singing from the same song sheet’. Who knows, but I should hopefully find out soon.
Friday was fine. I registered our marriage and pottered all day and had a fine old time. K came back on Saturday around lunchtime and it was a pleasure to have him back. That said, he had received the sad news from a nurse the day before that his father is pretty much on his last legs so the next 2 weeks or so are going to be pretty stressful. They have opted for palliative care for him now, given that there is little chance of him making a recovery of any sort, but as for timings we can only just wait and see and pray that he has peaceful and painless days until the end.
Having spent a week in Southampton on his own, K and I were just relieved to get some time together and relax. We did pretty much the same on Sunday, with a trip to Greenwich as it was such lovely weather. All would have been fine (though subdued given the sadness over his dad) had my mother not decided to text out of the blue. Suffice to say the fact that it arrived in the early hours of Saturday morning, suggesting strongly that she was very drunk. The content was abusive, rambling and stopped abruptly, so she had either passed out at that point or given up. In summary, it was much the same as the usual rubbish, with additional demands over my returning the deposit for my flat sooner rather than later and the new revelation that I have been cut out of their will. Nice. Not.
Rather than blowing my top (my initial and very strong instinct!!), I waited until lunchtime today to call my dad and ask him to ask her to desist. He didn’t answer his mobile so I left a message and am awaiting a call back. I suspect I may have a long wait as I decided that the nature of his recent email meant he could have done one of 2 things. Either he sent it as a fishing exercise, so that I would divulge information and give them new ammunition, or he sent it to try and mend fences but my mother didn’t like the content of my reply and responded in her own inimitable fashion without his blessing. Either way, I feel he ought to be given a chance to tell me rather than me presuming I know that he was being malicious. I really do hope he contacted me in innocence and with good intentions and that the drunken drivel from her was of her own doing. We shall see, but if nothing else, he will at least have to interrogate her first about the content if he is unaware.
So, having dealt with all this, I am pleased to say that I am definitely still dry. Yip, over 2 months now and counting!! Perhaps the message simply reinforced how dreadful drunk people can be, reminding me why I don’t ever want to get like that again. My mother may, much to her chagrin if she knew, have actually done me a favour!!! I didn’t even contemplate a drink as I felt so much stronger being virtuous and resisting the temptation to drown my sorrows. I was actually quite elated that I no longer got myself in such a state and was only reminded of the many, many times she has abused me when sozzled in the past. It is a shame if this is a sign of my bridge-building with the family having failed, but it may also be an indication of them no longer ‘singing from the same song sheet’. Who knows, but I should hopefully find out soon.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
As the second month goes by...but not in a blur!
Am not at work tomorrow so today I will be mostly celebrating…2 months dry. Yay!!!! So, to all those who did doubt that my resolve would last (and there were some naysayers both overt and secret – you know who you are!) I can truly, honestly, 100% confirm that I have not touched even a drop of alcohol since 26 April. Now, if I am truthful, it feels like it’s been longer. I suppose that may have a lot to do with the fact that I started once on 16 April and only had a brief relapse around the 26th. Another bit of me, though, can’t really recall what a drinking life was like. It’s almost as if it’s either someone else’s reality or part of my dim and distant past. I have definitely cast aside all the ritualistic elements (Friday eve, Sunday lunch etc no longer equate to booze) and have also stopped thinking automatically about an occasion as to whether or not alcohol will be involved. I am not foolish enough, however, to imagine that I am home and dry (pardon the pun): whilst the initial battle is over I have far from won the war. I still have so many areas to work on regarding the issues that drove me to drink too much in the first place. I haven’t reached this milestone and considered doing anything less than a year of abstinence still. The marker was laid in April and it aint about to be moved! But I am proud to have got this far without falling off the wagon and believe that I am heading into month 3 a stronger, happier and more determined person than ever.
I watched a very interesting documentary last night, concerning the effects of extreme dieting (2 journos trying to drop from a size 12 to a 00). The psychological changes were the startling bit and it made me realise how much abusing substances (be they drugs, alcohol, tobacco or junk food) all fall into the same arena. The mind starts to play tricks on you the minute you go from too much to too little of anything – the key is hitting the ever elusive middle ground and being as normal as it is humanly possible to be around anything that brings pleasure.
What did amaze me, though, was how frank people are about having an eating disorder. Unlike alcoholics or drug addicts who will go to great pains to deny that they are in trouble, eating disorders are almost like a war wound – as in ‘I was bullied at school and comfort ate to make myself feel better’. Or ‘my mother put me on a diet at 10 and I’ve been vomiting on and off ever since to purge myself of the binges I was forced to go on’. Were I to say ‘I sank 2 double G&Ts then a bottle of wine home alone last night and awoke on the sofa with dribble on my chin and a hole in my sofa from an un-extinguished cigarette’ my friends would be signing me into the Priory forthwith or at least expressing deep concern for my state of mind. A girl who sits twiddling her fork in a side salad rather than ordering a main meal (and rushes to the ladies at the first opportunity) gets sympathy for her inability to eat like everyone else. The one falling off a bar stool at 11.30 on a Tuesday eve in Soho with her eyes rolling unattractively in her head is sneered at and scorned. At the end of the day, an unhealthy relationship with anything needs rectified, but the approach to it will vary enormously. Some people are intelligent and strong enough to handle someone needing to go into rehab. Others are only too quick to castigate them as weak-willed and self-pitying, whilst stuffing their face with a muffin which the laxatives they take later will surely expunge.
So what’s bothering me about this? Why should I care? Why does the uneven-handed treatment make me angry? After all, they are both sick in their own way, the problem drinker and the problem eater. I think what makes me most annoyed is that my family were so quick to judge someone who has fessed up to and is currently conquering a drink problem. Had my brother’s ex-wife been revealed as bulimic, my mother would have admired her skinny figure! If K didn’t have his alcohol issues, my mother would adore him as his thyroid condition results in him being exceptionally lean – ooh the irony. In other words, as long as it goes on behind closed doors, and doesn’t impact on their heavy-drinking lifestyle, he can have whatever issues he likes. That’s what’s got my goat!!!! Until Monday…
I watched a very interesting documentary last night, concerning the effects of extreme dieting (2 journos trying to drop from a size 12 to a 00). The psychological changes were the startling bit and it made me realise how much abusing substances (be they drugs, alcohol, tobacco or junk food) all fall into the same arena. The mind starts to play tricks on you the minute you go from too much to too little of anything – the key is hitting the ever elusive middle ground and being as normal as it is humanly possible to be around anything that brings pleasure.
What did amaze me, though, was how frank people are about having an eating disorder. Unlike alcoholics or drug addicts who will go to great pains to deny that they are in trouble, eating disorders are almost like a war wound – as in ‘I was bullied at school and comfort ate to make myself feel better’. Or ‘my mother put me on a diet at 10 and I’ve been vomiting on and off ever since to purge myself of the binges I was forced to go on’. Were I to say ‘I sank 2 double G&Ts then a bottle of wine home alone last night and awoke on the sofa with dribble on my chin and a hole in my sofa from an un-extinguished cigarette’ my friends would be signing me into the Priory forthwith or at least expressing deep concern for my state of mind. A girl who sits twiddling her fork in a side salad rather than ordering a main meal (and rushes to the ladies at the first opportunity) gets sympathy for her inability to eat like everyone else. The one falling off a bar stool at 11.30 on a Tuesday eve in Soho with her eyes rolling unattractively in her head is sneered at and scorned. At the end of the day, an unhealthy relationship with anything needs rectified, but the approach to it will vary enormously. Some people are intelligent and strong enough to handle someone needing to go into rehab. Others are only too quick to castigate them as weak-willed and self-pitying, whilst stuffing their face with a muffin which the laxatives they take later will surely expunge.
So what’s bothering me about this? Why should I care? Why does the uneven-handed treatment make me angry? After all, they are both sick in their own way, the problem drinker and the problem eater. I think what makes me most annoyed is that my family were so quick to judge someone who has fessed up to and is currently conquering a drink problem. Had my brother’s ex-wife been revealed as bulimic, my mother would have admired her skinny figure! If K didn’t have his alcohol issues, my mother would adore him as his thyroid condition results in him being exceptionally lean – ooh the irony. In other words, as long as it goes on behind closed doors, and doesn’t impact on their heavy-drinking lifestyle, he can have whatever issues he likes. That’s what’s got my goat!!!! Until Monday…
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Who knows what tomorrow will bring...
Another lovely evening to myself and yep, another sober one. K is down in Southampton until at least the weekend, as his dad is still too unwell for decisions to be made. On the one hand I miss him massively, but on the other, the break is probably doing us both good.
Work is tedious, dull and slow beyond belief. I have been told to anticipate another 2 months of this as the summer is always slow. However, they have broached the subject of bringing things to an end sooner rather than later so if their nerve gives up, I may be job hunting again. Hey ho! C’est la vie and all that. I’ve done it before and I am sure that I will do it again! I’d rather not, as the CV could do with a break and I was hoping for a nice easy office job for a year so that I could contemplate retraining after hours as a masseur, but as they say: the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley (or things can still screw up even when you have planned ahead, in other words!)
Anyway, until decisions are made, I continue to exist in limbo and have all the time in the world to concentrate on my favourite subject: namely ME! Ha ha. As such, I’ve been thinking about one of the other symptoms of stress addiction which is:
You are a perfectionist and have a negative coach residing in your head
Oh how very, very true! Take the last few evenings for example. Rather than just tackling the odd job and doing a bit of housework, I have to start pulling the place apart and doing a deep, spring-like clean!!! Instead of being able to say that at the very least, I’ve done some housework, sorted out some stuff and not wasted my time, I want K to return to a perfect home in the style of the ultimate domestic goddess and will stop at nothing to achieve it!!! It’s very, very tiring being me, you see!
I’ve already dealt with my negative coach, who never stops reminding me that I could be slimmer, friendlier, earn more money etc, so that much didn’t surprise me and as for perfectionism – anal and OCD are my middle names, for God’s sake. This is basically where my dilemma resides and is probably the crux of all my issues. Perfectionism is stressful, demanding and rarely obtainable. Not caring enough, however, is just unthinkable. What exactly is the middle ground? Where do you draw the line, so to speak between careless and bothered? When my acupuncturist mentions the 80/20 rule, how can you be sure you’re following it? When does it become 70/30 such that you need to redress the balance? What is the ultimate attitude to foster and who sets the boundaries? That’s enough to keep me awake tonight anyway!!!
Work is tedious, dull and slow beyond belief. I have been told to anticipate another 2 months of this as the summer is always slow. However, they have broached the subject of bringing things to an end sooner rather than later so if their nerve gives up, I may be job hunting again. Hey ho! C’est la vie and all that. I’ve done it before and I am sure that I will do it again! I’d rather not, as the CV could do with a break and I was hoping for a nice easy office job for a year so that I could contemplate retraining after hours as a masseur, but as they say: the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley (or things can still screw up even when you have planned ahead, in other words!)
Anyway, until decisions are made, I continue to exist in limbo and have all the time in the world to concentrate on my favourite subject: namely ME! Ha ha. As such, I’ve been thinking about one of the other symptoms of stress addiction which is:
You are a perfectionist and have a negative coach residing in your head
Oh how very, very true! Take the last few evenings for example. Rather than just tackling the odd job and doing a bit of housework, I have to start pulling the place apart and doing a deep, spring-like clean!!! Instead of being able to say that at the very least, I’ve done some housework, sorted out some stuff and not wasted my time, I want K to return to a perfect home in the style of the ultimate domestic goddess and will stop at nothing to achieve it!!! It’s very, very tiring being me, you see!
I’ve already dealt with my negative coach, who never stops reminding me that I could be slimmer, friendlier, earn more money etc, so that much didn’t surprise me and as for perfectionism – anal and OCD are my middle names, for God’s sake. This is basically where my dilemma resides and is probably the crux of all my issues. Perfectionism is stressful, demanding and rarely obtainable. Not caring enough, however, is just unthinkable. What exactly is the middle ground? Where do you draw the line, so to speak between careless and bothered? When my acupuncturist mentions the 80/20 rule, how can you be sure you’re following it? When does it become 70/30 such that you need to redress the balance? What is the ultimate attitude to foster and who sets the boundaries? That’s enough to keep me awake tonight anyway!!!
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
I feel good and yeah, I knew that I would!!!
Had an excellent evening yesterday – my wee flat all to my splendid self!!! It’s a shame that something bad had to happen to give me my space as I am obviously pre-occupied with what K is going through in Southampton, but at the same time, it was a much-needed break. I did at least make a real effort too, not to go mental on my own!! I did a few things round the house but spent the majority of it on the sofa with trash on TV and pretty much revelled in it. Hmm, maybe I am making some progress after all!
Anyway, back to my stress addiction! I am most interested in the following symptom:
You are the sacrificial giver, playing the martyr
People-pleaser, martyr, whatever you want to call it, my apparent acts of self-sacrifice have come to define me – at least in my family’s eyes. My mother once commented that they felt like quacking every time I brought a boyfriend home, as I was severely afflicted by lame duck syndrome. Of course, her words are pretty poisonous but truth is many of my partners have, in some way, shape or form, been supported by me. My reason for never asking any of them to support me was simply that I hade been brought up by a mother who hammered home that I needed to be self-sufficient and never rely on a man. This I have done.
My parents have given me financial support along the way, as they saw fit, but only ever with the caveat that they expected a return on their investment! I, on the other hand, have always given unconditionally. That is simply my nature. I don’t expect anything and am pleasantly surprised when someone does do me a good turn. It’s far more self-preserving that way as you don’t end up disappointed very often – ha ha!! In turn, you have to write some things off as an unwise cause. My first long-term boyfriend ended up living off me for 2 years. Sure, I never got any money back but I did get to work out what sort of man I did/didn’t want, so he was a worthwhile investment albeit an expensive one! My next got himself banged up in jail after 6 months, giving me no choice but to end it. That said, his mother has assured me that he changed his life round after that as he saw what being a dick had lost him. That is all I ever needed to hear. K came to live me with me between jobs. He hasn’t, however, lived off me, only been offered help (on a loan basis) whilst it was needed. He had to survive alone when he was ill and when we met, was just getting back on his feet. Over the years he has made a fortune and lost it. He knows that money doesn’t bring you happiness and as part of recovery, he seeks a simple life with no trappings so that our future is solid and secure rather than precarious and materialistic. In this, he espouses my own values and neither of us consider giving (financially and emotionally) as being done in order to get something back.
To be a martyr, you need to sacrifice things and I don’t believe that I’ve ever sacrificed me for anyone else. I’ve spared a bit of me for them, but not to my own detriment. I also hope that I have given to friends as I have to partners. The only time that I have rectified an imbalance is when someone has been clearly taking me for a ride. It has happened and I can spot the signs and am strong and selfish enough to say ‘no more’. That said, it never hurts to review your relations and suss out if anyone is taking advantage of you. On that point, therefore, I don’t think I’m addicted, more susceptible!!
Drinking wise I am so close to the 2nd month anniversary that I am starting to get quite excited. It’s such a milestone and every day reinforces my belief that I have far more willpower than I have ever given myself credit for. I always told myself at the outset that I would fail (as I so often had before) or, as my parents would say ‘let myself down’. I set out on this one with a can-do attitude and it’s really paid off. No more self-sabotage for me. If millions of others can do it, well so the hell can I. I mentioned to K last night that I was proud of myself for NOT resorting to a bottle of wine on Sunday when things were incredibly tough. He claimed that he hadn’t even noticed but since I mentioned it, yes, it was clearly progress and he was pleased. He has to be so careful not to place any emphasis on my abstinence, coming as he does from his position, so wouldn’t normally bring it up without my mentioning it. Last night I had a tantalising moment passing the off-licence on the way home. How easy it would have been to slip in for a bottle and then hole up back at home with my stash – no K to see me, no-one to know and a night of getting obliterated. But I didn’t and am pleased as punch that my resolve stands. The feeling waking up knowing I have resisted the urge is far, far better than the inevitable hangover had I capitulated and indulged.
Anyway, back to my stress addiction! I am most interested in the following symptom:
You are the sacrificial giver, playing the martyr
People-pleaser, martyr, whatever you want to call it, my apparent acts of self-sacrifice have come to define me – at least in my family’s eyes. My mother once commented that they felt like quacking every time I brought a boyfriend home, as I was severely afflicted by lame duck syndrome. Of course, her words are pretty poisonous but truth is many of my partners have, in some way, shape or form, been supported by me. My reason for never asking any of them to support me was simply that I hade been brought up by a mother who hammered home that I needed to be self-sufficient and never rely on a man. This I have done.
My parents have given me financial support along the way, as they saw fit, but only ever with the caveat that they expected a return on their investment! I, on the other hand, have always given unconditionally. That is simply my nature. I don’t expect anything and am pleasantly surprised when someone does do me a good turn. It’s far more self-preserving that way as you don’t end up disappointed very often – ha ha!! In turn, you have to write some things off as an unwise cause. My first long-term boyfriend ended up living off me for 2 years. Sure, I never got any money back but I did get to work out what sort of man I did/didn’t want, so he was a worthwhile investment albeit an expensive one! My next got himself banged up in jail after 6 months, giving me no choice but to end it. That said, his mother has assured me that he changed his life round after that as he saw what being a dick had lost him. That is all I ever needed to hear. K came to live me with me between jobs. He hasn’t, however, lived off me, only been offered help (on a loan basis) whilst it was needed. He had to survive alone when he was ill and when we met, was just getting back on his feet. Over the years he has made a fortune and lost it. He knows that money doesn’t bring you happiness and as part of recovery, he seeks a simple life with no trappings so that our future is solid and secure rather than precarious and materialistic. In this, he espouses my own values and neither of us consider giving (financially and emotionally) as being done in order to get something back.
To be a martyr, you need to sacrifice things and I don’t believe that I’ve ever sacrificed me for anyone else. I’ve spared a bit of me for them, but not to my own detriment. I also hope that I have given to friends as I have to partners. The only time that I have rectified an imbalance is when someone has been clearly taking me for a ride. It has happened and I can spot the signs and am strong and selfish enough to say ‘no more’. That said, it never hurts to review your relations and suss out if anyone is taking advantage of you. On that point, therefore, I don’t think I’m addicted, more susceptible!!
Drinking wise I am so close to the 2nd month anniversary that I am starting to get quite excited. It’s such a milestone and every day reinforces my belief that I have far more willpower than I have ever given myself credit for. I always told myself at the outset that I would fail (as I so often had before) or, as my parents would say ‘let myself down’. I set out on this one with a can-do attitude and it’s really paid off. No more self-sabotage for me. If millions of others can do it, well so the hell can I. I mentioned to K last night that I was proud of myself for NOT resorting to a bottle of wine on Sunday when things were incredibly tough. He claimed that he hadn’t even noticed but since I mentioned it, yes, it was clearly progress and he was pleased. He has to be so careful not to place any emphasis on my abstinence, coming as he does from his position, so wouldn’t normally bring it up without my mentioning it. Last night I had a tantalising moment passing the off-licence on the way home. How easy it would have been to slip in for a bottle and then hole up back at home with my stash – no K to see me, no-one to know and a night of getting obliterated. But I didn’t and am pleased as punch that my resolve stands. The feeling waking up knowing I have resisted the urge is far, far better than the inevitable hangover had I capitulated and indulged.
Monday, 22 June 2009
Testing, testing 1,2,3....
Had a lousy weekend. Even though I try my best to be ‘chipper’ about everything and look for a silver lining (however slim) on every cloud, this was one I’d rather write off to history. K’s dad ended up being rushed to hospital on Sunday morning after a fall and received an emergency blood transfusion. His carer found him and as K’s sister is on holiday in Spain, he is the only one in easy reach of Southampton. Not being one to wash my dirty linen in public (hmm, maybe that’s hypocrisy given my blog but what I mean is that I don’t go into stuff that does not need shared and does not relate to my challenge), we had a very stressful day.
K headed off to Southampton this afternoon, having put his ducks in a row at work, so all my thoughts and prayers are currently with him and his dad. It leaves me with some much needed breathing space, though, as I haven’t been alone much at all since K moved in last November. It’s only when it comes around that I am on my own at home, that I realise just how much I value my solitude from time to time. However, as soon as I get it I seem to go crazy, rather than putting my feet up and revelling in a long hot bath and my choice of music. Before K had even finalised plans to go down for the week, in my head I’d scheduled a run, loads of ironing, some cooking and a really good cleaning session in the living room. On a Monday and Tuesday evening, for God’s sake!!!!!!! It was then that I realised that I make my own stress, and am incapable of relaxing, which was one of the stress addict issues that I read last week. According to that, you are addicted if:
You feel guilty about relaxing and making time for yourself
So rather than digging out a book I’ve wanted to read, buying spa products or just making star shapes in a double bed (hee hee!), I have to fill the time he’s away constructively. Even more crazily, I actually considered cancelling the one person I am seeing this week on Wednesday, as it would be another eve on which I could do housework and run myself ragged!!! I’d love to say that tonight I will go home and have a relaxing and steady evening, and resist the urge to don my marigolds and hunt down my steam cleaner. Hell, no. In fact I popped a suit into the dry cleaners for him at lunch as it had been sat at home in a bag for 2 weeks. I couldn’t help myself. It’s like the major organisational side of me comes right out and the notion of being free to polish, tidy and work till I drop is too, too much to resist.
What drives me is the knowledge that a clean and tidy home makes me so, so happy. I am looking forward to standing in my wee kingdom and surveying the work I’ve done. Sure, I’ll be knackered and those books I haven’t read will still be gathering dust, but the question is, what brings me pleasure? If it’s the cleaning, then why not do it? If I am incapable of relaxing without surveying the room for jobs to be done, then I won’t relax, will I? God, it’s like a Catch 22 scenario and I’m none the wiser as to what to do to resolve it. K thinks I’m bonkers for asking for time to myself to clean. I can’t see what’s wrong with that as my choice of how to spend my time wisely and I do need the solitude for my sanity. K gets plenty of time alone as I tend to go out without him at least twice a week and he’s on flexi-time at work due to his eye troubles so frequently gets home mid-afternoon. I also pop out at weekends to see girlfriends and in general, I’m the one clawing the walls for some me-time. I have a job which is sociable and requires me to work for 3 people, all of whom have demands on my time. Sometimes being back in my flat with a pile of ironing and some crap TV and 3 hours of no-one else is utter, utter bliss.
However, I do need to question why I create such a maelstrom of activity for me to do when I am alone. Surely the answer would be a cleaning lady? Even on London wages it would be worth it if it gave me what I have now come to consider as truly free time, now I live with my beloved. Question is, can the control freak in me let that happen without spending hours cleaning and tidying before they arrive!!!
On the subject of not drinking, yesterday was the first truly traumatic time since my parents derailed my early attempt at sobriety. The wine was definitely beckoning as losing myself in a bottle of red would have felt like heaven. Forgetting all my stress and worry and blotting out the anxiety was never on the cards, though. I had to think about it and dismiss the idea, but it was no craving. It wasn’t even a mild lust, more of a fleeting thought. Progress. I can tackle life head on without reaching automatically for the nearest bottle. I suppose the test really comes tonight, the first time I am truly alone in 2 months. That’s when I can do as I wish and report what I like to the blog and the only person who knows better is me. Interesting…
K headed off to Southampton this afternoon, having put his ducks in a row at work, so all my thoughts and prayers are currently with him and his dad. It leaves me with some much needed breathing space, though, as I haven’t been alone much at all since K moved in last November. It’s only when it comes around that I am on my own at home, that I realise just how much I value my solitude from time to time. However, as soon as I get it I seem to go crazy, rather than putting my feet up and revelling in a long hot bath and my choice of music. Before K had even finalised plans to go down for the week, in my head I’d scheduled a run, loads of ironing, some cooking and a really good cleaning session in the living room. On a Monday and Tuesday evening, for God’s sake!!!!!!! It was then that I realised that I make my own stress, and am incapable of relaxing, which was one of the stress addict issues that I read last week. According to that, you are addicted if:
You feel guilty about relaxing and making time for yourself
So rather than digging out a book I’ve wanted to read, buying spa products or just making star shapes in a double bed (hee hee!), I have to fill the time he’s away constructively. Even more crazily, I actually considered cancelling the one person I am seeing this week on Wednesday, as it would be another eve on which I could do housework and run myself ragged!!! I’d love to say that tonight I will go home and have a relaxing and steady evening, and resist the urge to don my marigolds and hunt down my steam cleaner. Hell, no. In fact I popped a suit into the dry cleaners for him at lunch as it had been sat at home in a bag for 2 weeks. I couldn’t help myself. It’s like the major organisational side of me comes right out and the notion of being free to polish, tidy and work till I drop is too, too much to resist.
What drives me is the knowledge that a clean and tidy home makes me so, so happy. I am looking forward to standing in my wee kingdom and surveying the work I’ve done. Sure, I’ll be knackered and those books I haven’t read will still be gathering dust, but the question is, what brings me pleasure? If it’s the cleaning, then why not do it? If I am incapable of relaxing without surveying the room for jobs to be done, then I won’t relax, will I? God, it’s like a Catch 22 scenario and I’m none the wiser as to what to do to resolve it. K thinks I’m bonkers for asking for time to myself to clean. I can’t see what’s wrong with that as my choice of how to spend my time wisely and I do need the solitude for my sanity. K gets plenty of time alone as I tend to go out without him at least twice a week and he’s on flexi-time at work due to his eye troubles so frequently gets home mid-afternoon. I also pop out at weekends to see girlfriends and in general, I’m the one clawing the walls for some me-time. I have a job which is sociable and requires me to work for 3 people, all of whom have demands on my time. Sometimes being back in my flat with a pile of ironing and some crap TV and 3 hours of no-one else is utter, utter bliss.
However, I do need to question why I create such a maelstrom of activity for me to do when I am alone. Surely the answer would be a cleaning lady? Even on London wages it would be worth it if it gave me what I have now come to consider as truly free time, now I live with my beloved. Question is, can the control freak in me let that happen without spending hours cleaning and tidying before they arrive!!!
On the subject of not drinking, yesterday was the first truly traumatic time since my parents derailed my early attempt at sobriety. The wine was definitely beckoning as losing myself in a bottle of red would have felt like heaven. Forgetting all my stress and worry and blotting out the anxiety was never on the cards, though. I had to think about it and dismiss the idea, but it was no craving. It wasn’t even a mild lust, more of a fleeting thought. Progress. I can tackle life head on without reaching automatically for the nearest bottle. I suppose the test really comes tonight, the first time I am truly alone in 2 months. That’s when I can do as I wish and report what I like to the blog and the only person who knows better is me. Interesting…
Friday, 19 June 2009
Keep on running!
Was reading a really interesting article the other eve in one of my ‘women’s’ magazines. Actually, that is such a patronising way of describing them, as if women’s issues were somehow different/lesser to men’s in this context. As K tends to pilfer said magazines (and all men I know have always done) it’s clear that their advice is obviously sensible and useful for both sexes. Anyway, feminist rant over!!!
So anyway, the article was focussing on the subject of stress addiction, which I am inclined to believe could mean me. I’ve considered each of the indicators that suggest you are suffering from an addiction to adrenaline rushing stress and am dealing with them in turn. Today’s one is:
You perform your ‘to-do’ list with an unfocused mind, never fully present and always looking to the future, thinking about what’s next on your list.
This is quite, quite true. My to-do lists are reinvented on a regular basis, in the hope that a new one will suddenly inspire me to actually undertake all the things on there! It’s not so much the tasks that I can’t get interested in, as the constantly growing list which depresses me! No sooner have I completed one thing than my mind is already wandering to what needs doing next, either on the list or as a knock-on effect of doing the last task.
If someone thanks me for doing something, I’m always inclined to tell them what I didn’t do, than just accept the compliment. For example, if my colleague says ‘thanks for helping me with that – it’s so much faster when you upload things’ I reply ‘no problem, anytime. It’s nothing. That said, what I really ought to have done is install the software on your PC, but I’ve been very lax updating your machine and need to prioritise it with IT’ etc etc. So I am already talking about what I now need to do and what a failure I’ve been not to have done it yet rather than saying ‘yeah, job done. That should make your life easier’. I just can’t live in the ‘here and now’ and actually focus on what has been done. I also feel the need to constantly apologise for what I consider my failings, but what other people wouldn’t have even thought about.
Anyway, have a nice weekend to look forward to and a couple of ‘results’ from yesterday. Firstly, I got an email from my father which was totally out of the blue. I had sent him a birthday card on 1 June and heard nothing, so was starting to think that things were more dire between us than ever. However, he has obviously had time to think and with Father’s Day on Sunday had managed to compose a non-confrontational message; the first one since this whole sorry saga started that wasn’t having a dig at me. It was chatty and newsy and in my opinion, an olive branch. I felt elated and relieved that some progress had been made, albeit the first step in what I imagine will be a long, slow path to recovery. But it made K happy as he can see it makes me happy, so fingers crossed that my relations with them are set to improve. His relationship with them is not even up for offer, and I can totally understand that. It was killed stone dead last year, when my mother gave him a tirade down the phone which included the words leech and scum. However, he appreciates that they are my family, so even if our future relationship is only ever ‘passable’ and some things will never be reversed, it’s a start. Watch this space!!!
In addition, I went for my first run in months last night. I’d been wittering on that day to my colleague about not exercising and her response, which was more than fair, was to ‘just do it’ as Nike would say!!! So I did. I felt fantastic afterwards and still do today. It was the best thing I could have done and long may it last. Will update on my progress over the weekend on Monday as I am determined to get out for another run at some point and keep up the momentum.
So anyway, the article was focussing on the subject of stress addiction, which I am inclined to believe could mean me. I’ve considered each of the indicators that suggest you are suffering from an addiction to adrenaline rushing stress and am dealing with them in turn. Today’s one is:
You perform your ‘to-do’ list with an unfocused mind, never fully present and always looking to the future, thinking about what’s next on your list.
This is quite, quite true. My to-do lists are reinvented on a regular basis, in the hope that a new one will suddenly inspire me to actually undertake all the things on there! It’s not so much the tasks that I can’t get interested in, as the constantly growing list which depresses me! No sooner have I completed one thing than my mind is already wandering to what needs doing next, either on the list or as a knock-on effect of doing the last task.
If someone thanks me for doing something, I’m always inclined to tell them what I didn’t do, than just accept the compliment. For example, if my colleague says ‘thanks for helping me with that – it’s so much faster when you upload things’ I reply ‘no problem, anytime. It’s nothing. That said, what I really ought to have done is install the software on your PC, but I’ve been very lax updating your machine and need to prioritise it with IT’ etc etc. So I am already talking about what I now need to do and what a failure I’ve been not to have done it yet rather than saying ‘yeah, job done. That should make your life easier’. I just can’t live in the ‘here and now’ and actually focus on what has been done. I also feel the need to constantly apologise for what I consider my failings, but what other people wouldn’t have even thought about.
Anyway, have a nice weekend to look forward to and a couple of ‘results’ from yesterday. Firstly, I got an email from my father which was totally out of the blue. I had sent him a birthday card on 1 June and heard nothing, so was starting to think that things were more dire between us than ever. However, he has obviously had time to think and with Father’s Day on Sunday had managed to compose a non-confrontational message; the first one since this whole sorry saga started that wasn’t having a dig at me. It was chatty and newsy and in my opinion, an olive branch. I felt elated and relieved that some progress had been made, albeit the first step in what I imagine will be a long, slow path to recovery. But it made K happy as he can see it makes me happy, so fingers crossed that my relations with them are set to improve. His relationship with them is not even up for offer, and I can totally understand that. It was killed stone dead last year, when my mother gave him a tirade down the phone which included the words leech and scum. However, he appreciates that they are my family, so even if our future relationship is only ever ‘passable’ and some things will never be reversed, it’s a start. Watch this space!!!
In addition, I went for my first run in months last night. I’d been wittering on that day to my colleague about not exercising and her response, which was more than fair, was to ‘just do it’ as Nike would say!!! So I did. I felt fantastic afterwards and still do today. It was the best thing I could have done and long may it last. Will update on my progress over the weekend on Monday as I am determined to get out for another run at some point and keep up the momentum.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
The middle ground - in search of it!
I suppose I ought not to be surprised that giving up alcohol (a drug at the end of the day) has given me such mood swings. That said, I have obviously had good and bad moods in the past, but I am finding the extremes the hardest thing to manage. One day I am happy and bouncy and full of beans; the next I want to bite everyone’s heads off and am positively ‘manic’ in my behaviour.
I also suspect that replacing booze with caffeine is a factor. This certainly leaves me quite ‘wired’ in a way that I never was before. Instead of counteracting the doziness from a boozed-up night before, it now acts as a total stimulant. That said, I can’t resist my 3 cups in the morning, although I am very careful not to drink any after 11am.
The simple fact is, I am bored. A sober life is definitely more demanding than a permanently hungover one! Thoughts charge round my head now constantly and at 100 miles an hour. No sooner have I started considering one thing than my butterfly-like mind has moved on to the next. I actually think my ability to concentrate has got worse since I sobered up, not better. I flit from magazine to book, TV to radio and nothing has me engaged for very long. This morning I found myself on the train with The Guardian open on my lap, my blackberry in my right hand (I had just used it to google ‘cotton buds blocking drains’ and was waiting for a result!!!), looking out the window at Canary Wharf and considering in my head what I’d really like to say to my dad on Father’s Day!!!!
I am thinking about starting yoga again, though can’t go this weekend as K is off to Southampton to see his dad. As such, I have the flat to myself for 24 hours and am planning to spend every minute of it enjoying my sanctuary!! Even so, am not entirely convinced it is a cure for my pseudo-ADHD!!! I am also unable to motivate myself to go running again, which amazes me. Time was that running was something I never missed as it gave me breathing space and tired me out. I can’t blame K as he has done nothing to de-incentivise me, but my loss of willpower and organisation has coincided with him moving in. I used to run with a hangover as a great way to sweat out the toxins, so why I am avoiding it now is beyond me. I start the day with all good intentions, but when the time comes to put on my kit, I just can’t face it. The idea of taking it easy at home with my beloved instead is just too, too tempting!
So today I am in search of…equilibrium. That’s basically all there is to it. I want some balance, some routine, and above all, something to do at work!!! An idle Ilona is a very unhappy Ilona.
I also suspect that replacing booze with caffeine is a factor. This certainly leaves me quite ‘wired’ in a way that I never was before. Instead of counteracting the doziness from a boozed-up night before, it now acts as a total stimulant. That said, I can’t resist my 3 cups in the morning, although I am very careful not to drink any after 11am.
The simple fact is, I am bored. A sober life is definitely more demanding than a permanently hungover one! Thoughts charge round my head now constantly and at 100 miles an hour. No sooner have I started considering one thing than my butterfly-like mind has moved on to the next. I actually think my ability to concentrate has got worse since I sobered up, not better. I flit from magazine to book, TV to radio and nothing has me engaged for very long. This morning I found myself on the train with The Guardian open on my lap, my blackberry in my right hand (I had just used it to google ‘cotton buds blocking drains’ and was waiting for a result!!!), looking out the window at Canary Wharf and considering in my head what I’d really like to say to my dad on Father’s Day!!!!
I am thinking about starting yoga again, though can’t go this weekend as K is off to Southampton to see his dad. As such, I have the flat to myself for 24 hours and am planning to spend every minute of it enjoying my sanctuary!! Even so, am not entirely convinced it is a cure for my pseudo-ADHD!!! I am also unable to motivate myself to go running again, which amazes me. Time was that running was something I never missed as it gave me breathing space and tired me out. I can’t blame K as he has done nothing to de-incentivise me, but my loss of willpower and organisation has coincided with him moving in. I used to run with a hangover as a great way to sweat out the toxins, so why I am avoiding it now is beyond me. I start the day with all good intentions, but when the time comes to put on my kit, I just can’t face it. The idea of taking it easy at home with my beloved instead is just too, too tempting!
So today I am in search of…equilibrium. That’s basically all there is to it. I want some balance, some routine, and above all, something to do at work!!! An idle Ilona is a very unhappy Ilona.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Facing up to fears....
Some days, I do actually thank the higher powers (can’t say Gods as I have never been religious and have failed to be converted over the years) that my life is as OK as it is. Yip, it has its ups and downs but, on the whole, it’s pretty good. That’s not to say that there isn’t always room for improvement, but perhaps if I actually listened to my gut instinct a bit more, I’d have even less on my plate to worry about.
I am convinced that many people ignore what their heart is telling them, and constantly plough on as if the nagging voices don’t exist. In my experience there are 2 types of people. On the one hand, there are those who would rather ask a ridiculous question that is clearly wrong, than risk not following up a lead in their head. Some would call them paranoid, pedantic or just plain irritating! On the other are those who would rather have knives stuck in them than ask awkward questions or face up to the inevitable and are the same ones who’d rather spend 10 minutes in a shop looking for something than ask an assistant.
I am in the latter camp. I know I often cut off my nose to spite my face, rather than just getting out of my comfort zone and asking someone. I simply find it impossible to display ignorance in front of anyone. I’d rather not do something than fess up that I don’t know. Funnily enough, I can see where alcohol came in handy here, as it loosened my tongue. It made me willing to show myself up as my crippling self regard was down. I could walk into any bar or shop with a few glasses inside me, and march up to concierges and receptionists without a care in the world, if I’d imbibed. Now I feel even more self-conscious than ever and shy away from anything that involves being strident.
Take last night. I now hate arriving places early on my own. I used to be blasé, having invariably been for an after-work drink or something to take the edge off it. Now I can’t bear it and try every trick in the book to meet friends elsewhere. The place in question is particularly awkward, as they won’t give you a table until your whole party has arrived but insist you ‘loiter’ in a bar beforehand. I kind of brought it on myself as I had suggested it as the ‘destination du jour’ having been there the other week. In a perverse way, I am probably trying myself out. As it happened, one girl could meet me early at Café Nero, which we did. I was therefore relieved to see that the restaurant (my nemesis!!) was heaving when we finally got there, so made swift decision to go to a restaurant I knew like the back of my hand that was just round the corner! It was a bit like standing at the top of the ski-run, daring myself to go for it, then backing off and talking the cable car down. So, in terms of guts and self worth I clearly have a long, long way to go.
Must mull this over as am sure I will have more to add tomorrow.
I am convinced that many people ignore what their heart is telling them, and constantly plough on as if the nagging voices don’t exist. In my experience there are 2 types of people. On the one hand, there are those who would rather ask a ridiculous question that is clearly wrong, than risk not following up a lead in their head. Some would call them paranoid, pedantic or just plain irritating! On the other are those who would rather have knives stuck in them than ask awkward questions or face up to the inevitable and are the same ones who’d rather spend 10 minutes in a shop looking for something than ask an assistant.
I am in the latter camp. I know I often cut off my nose to spite my face, rather than just getting out of my comfort zone and asking someone. I simply find it impossible to display ignorance in front of anyone. I’d rather not do something than fess up that I don’t know. Funnily enough, I can see where alcohol came in handy here, as it loosened my tongue. It made me willing to show myself up as my crippling self regard was down. I could walk into any bar or shop with a few glasses inside me, and march up to concierges and receptionists without a care in the world, if I’d imbibed. Now I feel even more self-conscious than ever and shy away from anything that involves being strident.
Take last night. I now hate arriving places early on my own. I used to be blasé, having invariably been for an after-work drink or something to take the edge off it. Now I can’t bear it and try every trick in the book to meet friends elsewhere. The place in question is particularly awkward, as they won’t give you a table until your whole party has arrived but insist you ‘loiter’ in a bar beforehand. I kind of brought it on myself as I had suggested it as the ‘destination du jour’ having been there the other week. In a perverse way, I am probably trying myself out. As it happened, one girl could meet me early at Café Nero, which we did. I was therefore relieved to see that the restaurant (my nemesis!!) was heaving when we finally got there, so made swift decision to go to a restaurant I knew like the back of my hand that was just round the corner! It was a bit like standing at the top of the ski-run, daring myself to go for it, then backing off and talking the cable car down. So, in terms of guts and self worth I clearly have a long, long way to go.
Must mull this over as am sure I will have more to add tomorrow.
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
Aspirations are a wonderful thing as long as...
Had a day off from blogging yesterday. Was busier than usual at work and a lot of it was irritating stuff like servers going down or blackberries not synching, so whilst I had plenty of time, I lacked the inspiration to turn my attention to the blog. Also, my friend S and I had an impromptu lunch as it was Monday and we both needed a lift, so I got my therapy that way anyway. Plus all the good brain feeding oils from the tuna don that I scoffed with her and the fact that the sun reappeared meant that it was a pretty good day, all in all.
We are trying to ascertain what future the company I work for has in the current and future climate. It’s a fascinating bit of office politics, observing the 3 partners telling each other not the whole truth and nothing but; rather they are communicating in platitudes and non-committal statements, each playing their hand close to their chest. I am strangely unbothered. Firstly, as they aren’t even telling each other where their heads are at, there is no point whatsoever trying to figure out what they have agreed as a group and partly because I am ready to go with the flow if anything happens and I have to move on again. I’m not scared any more to do something risky and take a leap of faith if I have to and am starting to feel more confident and secure in who I am and what I want. All my previous career moves have been safety nets, so maybe it will be my chance to push the boundaries a bit. All I quite fancy is a quiet summer and if the time is up for the business, that they choose to do it in the autumn when things aren’t so slow and the weather’s not so good!!
As I age I am starting to get a chip on my shoulder as being dismissed as ‘just a PA’. It never phased me much before, as I was content in my role, good at it and enjoyed the variety. I also respected my bosses and considered them experienced at what they did, whilst they simultaneously appreciated the jobs that I undertook. However, I get deeply frustrated these days by people who consider themselves ‘better’ than me for having climbed higher up the ladder. In many cases they aren’t more experienced, nor do they have a greater understanding or abilities in certain disciplines.
My malaise probably started about 4 years ago when I followed a boss (who had been sacked) from a national newspaper to a publishing company. 2 years on he was sacked again and by then I had realised that his meteoric rise in his previous role had not been down to ability but good luck and a lot of brown-nosing. As did the owner of the company who waved goodbye. I was a casualty whilst working for him for a second time and yet prior to him being given the chop, I had been running my own magazine and handling everything from print to sales. When I was made redundant (no boss, no PA even if I did do far more than that!) I slipped back into office management, having only ever done the publishing role in an informal capacity, so felt somewhat cheated out of a job I loved by his incompetence and delusions of grandeur.
I was happy to take on my current role as the 2 partners instilled a sense of team work in me, which meant that we worked hand in hand rather than from the top down. All was hunky dory until a third partner joined, with an exceptionally supercilious attitude from his years as an investment banker. He not only made me feel like an admin person again, but his high-handedness unsettled the others, who have seen the whole dynamic of the company change since he arrived.
I know it’s time to do something for myself, therefore, as I am more convinced than ever that if something is going to work, then only I can be the driving force. I have to step down off the coat tails of all my bosses, past and present, and put my own neck on the block. I have started to see how my ‘never quite good enough’ opinion of myself had hindered me all these years.
When I was very young I acted on stage without a care in the world; lead character in a play about a wizard at the age of 7. By age 12 I wouldn’t even audition for the chorus in a show as I was crippled by self-doubt. This only got worse, not better, during my teenage years. Everything I did was always great but never stellar. I was the B+/A- student across the board. I didn’t excel at sports, neither. I was creative, but not talented enough to go to art school. I was academic, but not enough for Oxbridge. I was good at languages, but fluency came after a struggle. My parents endorsed my belief that I was OK but wished I could be slimmer, smarter, funnier, sportier and, above all, more popular. I was a huge let down to my mum as I wasn’t part of the in-crowd. Far from it, actually. On the rare occasion that I did have any relationship with a popular person, she would be beside herself with pleasure, then deflated when it was clear that they were only talking to me for a reason and said relationship didn’t exist. Superficiality was the order of the day, but I just couldn’t work hard enough to attain this level of perfection that she craved. I was always a little bit of a let down to them and in my head, I was convinced that was because I really was always ‘a bit shit’.
My parents' current level of opprobrium stems not only from their belief that Kenny isn’t good enough for me, but also that I am not good enough for anyone. In their eyes, I have never met their expectations and sell myself short, so what talent and chance I have had, I have squandered. Incredibly, I pretty much bought that view for many years. I beat myself up for being a let down when, actually, I had always tried my best. That just wasn’t enough. K also thinks that he doesn’t deserve a break, having had a fair few awful periods over the last few years. Convincing him that he is not flawed has finally led to me accepting that I too, am not flawed. I won’t beat Paula Radcliffe in a marathon, but I have completed one. I won’t be a top businesswoman like Nicola Horlick, but I can at least envisage having a moderately good one. I will never be famed for my beauty, but I can look half decent and attract the odd bit of male attention if I make an effort. Sure, it’s still second best (or possibly even third) but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
I drank to take myself out of myself. A tipsy me was flirtatious and fun. A drunk me was raucous and naughty. I could imagine I was popular and the life and soul for as long as it took to sober up. I ignored the fact that a hangover was required for me to have either pulled or made a new chum. The idea of achieving either thing sober was impossible, as then it would be sober, straight, boring and tedious me who everyone would be subjected to, and that was hardly fair in my eyes. I drank to ensure that I didn’t see myself as my critics did, through a kaleidoscope of cracks and holes.
We are trying to ascertain what future the company I work for has in the current and future climate. It’s a fascinating bit of office politics, observing the 3 partners telling each other not the whole truth and nothing but; rather they are communicating in platitudes and non-committal statements, each playing their hand close to their chest. I am strangely unbothered. Firstly, as they aren’t even telling each other where their heads are at, there is no point whatsoever trying to figure out what they have agreed as a group and partly because I am ready to go with the flow if anything happens and I have to move on again. I’m not scared any more to do something risky and take a leap of faith if I have to and am starting to feel more confident and secure in who I am and what I want. All my previous career moves have been safety nets, so maybe it will be my chance to push the boundaries a bit. All I quite fancy is a quiet summer and if the time is up for the business, that they choose to do it in the autumn when things aren’t so slow and the weather’s not so good!!
As I age I am starting to get a chip on my shoulder as being dismissed as ‘just a PA’. It never phased me much before, as I was content in my role, good at it and enjoyed the variety. I also respected my bosses and considered them experienced at what they did, whilst they simultaneously appreciated the jobs that I undertook. However, I get deeply frustrated these days by people who consider themselves ‘better’ than me for having climbed higher up the ladder. In many cases they aren’t more experienced, nor do they have a greater understanding or abilities in certain disciplines.
My malaise probably started about 4 years ago when I followed a boss (who had been sacked) from a national newspaper to a publishing company. 2 years on he was sacked again and by then I had realised that his meteoric rise in his previous role had not been down to ability but good luck and a lot of brown-nosing. As did the owner of the company who waved goodbye. I was a casualty whilst working for him for a second time and yet prior to him being given the chop, I had been running my own magazine and handling everything from print to sales. When I was made redundant (no boss, no PA even if I did do far more than that!) I slipped back into office management, having only ever done the publishing role in an informal capacity, so felt somewhat cheated out of a job I loved by his incompetence and delusions of grandeur.
I was happy to take on my current role as the 2 partners instilled a sense of team work in me, which meant that we worked hand in hand rather than from the top down. All was hunky dory until a third partner joined, with an exceptionally supercilious attitude from his years as an investment banker. He not only made me feel like an admin person again, but his high-handedness unsettled the others, who have seen the whole dynamic of the company change since he arrived.
I know it’s time to do something for myself, therefore, as I am more convinced than ever that if something is going to work, then only I can be the driving force. I have to step down off the coat tails of all my bosses, past and present, and put my own neck on the block. I have started to see how my ‘never quite good enough’ opinion of myself had hindered me all these years.
When I was very young I acted on stage without a care in the world; lead character in a play about a wizard at the age of 7. By age 12 I wouldn’t even audition for the chorus in a show as I was crippled by self-doubt. This only got worse, not better, during my teenage years. Everything I did was always great but never stellar. I was the B+/A- student across the board. I didn’t excel at sports, neither. I was creative, but not talented enough to go to art school. I was academic, but not enough for Oxbridge. I was good at languages, but fluency came after a struggle. My parents endorsed my belief that I was OK but wished I could be slimmer, smarter, funnier, sportier and, above all, more popular. I was a huge let down to my mum as I wasn’t part of the in-crowd. Far from it, actually. On the rare occasion that I did have any relationship with a popular person, she would be beside herself with pleasure, then deflated when it was clear that they were only talking to me for a reason and said relationship didn’t exist. Superficiality was the order of the day, but I just couldn’t work hard enough to attain this level of perfection that she craved. I was always a little bit of a let down to them and in my head, I was convinced that was because I really was always ‘a bit shit’.
My parents' current level of opprobrium stems not only from their belief that Kenny isn’t good enough for me, but also that I am not good enough for anyone. In their eyes, I have never met their expectations and sell myself short, so what talent and chance I have had, I have squandered. Incredibly, I pretty much bought that view for many years. I beat myself up for being a let down when, actually, I had always tried my best. That just wasn’t enough. K also thinks that he doesn’t deserve a break, having had a fair few awful periods over the last few years. Convincing him that he is not flawed has finally led to me accepting that I too, am not flawed. I won’t beat Paula Radcliffe in a marathon, but I have completed one. I won’t be a top businesswoman like Nicola Horlick, but I can at least envisage having a moderately good one. I will never be famed for my beauty, but I can look half decent and attract the odd bit of male attention if I make an effort. Sure, it’s still second best (or possibly even third) but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
I drank to take myself out of myself. A tipsy me was flirtatious and fun. A drunk me was raucous and naughty. I could imagine I was popular and the life and soul for as long as it took to sober up. I ignored the fact that a hangover was required for me to have either pulled or made a new chum. The idea of achieving either thing sober was impossible, as then it would be sober, straight, boring and tedious me who everyone would be subjected to, and that was hardly fair in my eyes. I drank to ensure that I didn’t see myself as my critics did, through a kaleidoscope of cracks and holes.
Friday, 12 June 2009
Friday can't come soon enough!
My grumps continue! Ah – roll on the weekend and a couple of days when I don’t have to interact with people!! I think I have simply just over-socialised. Basically, I was out two evenings this week with friends and had lunch with another and the office has been particularly quiet and oppressive this week, so my colleagues and I have resorted to chatting even more than usual. That’s not a complaint about the socialising, as it was fab to see my friends, but this eve I have the hairdressers and I really don’t want to go. I can’t cancel as I did it a few weeks ago (and was chastised by the guy who answered the phone as he ‘could have given the slot away had I called earlier’ – ffs!!) so I am honour-bound to go. My hairdresser is lovely and not overly chatty, but she really takes her time to get it right and as such, it takes up to an hour and a half to do. Love the fact I am getting my money’s worth and a fantastic cut, but when all I want to do is go home, curl up with K on the sofa and be totally anti-social, a trendy, pumping salon in Soho is the last place I fancy!
Maybe being 100% sober, 24/7 is harder work than I imagined. Not only is everything crystal clear but things I may have just accepted before (and gone with the flow) now seem more challenging and demanding of me. Whilst I am doing more and definitely driving things forward (rather than waiting for events to unfurl) such as the wedding, I am also more inclined to get annoyed about the stuff I don’t want to do but have to. I got massively irritated today about some work I was asked to do, which I suspect I would have just got on with, without complaint, in times gone by. I also get very frustrated when people ask me too much about stuff and press for details, or even suggest I do something that I hadn’t planned to do. I almost feel violated by questions and requests when, in the past, I would have been so damn cheerful about stuff and compliant.
I don’t want to turn into a female Victor Meldrew, though! I need to manage my stresses, so I persuaded my friend G to try a yoga class with me next Saturday. I am hoping it will do her the world of good too, as she is manically busy at the moment. I haven’t done yoga for years (last time I did a class I was at uni) but I know from experience that it made me calmer and happier. I like to think that these days when I identify a problem, I also now try to find a solution, rather than letting problems either get on top of me (as I did before) or get swept under the carpet (as I also did before. Bad Ilona!!). As such, I think a run is definitely in order for me this weekend, as that too helps me ‘pound out’ my frustrations. Bring it on!
Maybe being 100% sober, 24/7 is harder work than I imagined. Not only is everything crystal clear but things I may have just accepted before (and gone with the flow) now seem more challenging and demanding of me. Whilst I am doing more and definitely driving things forward (rather than waiting for events to unfurl) such as the wedding, I am also more inclined to get annoyed about the stuff I don’t want to do but have to. I got massively irritated today about some work I was asked to do, which I suspect I would have just got on with, without complaint, in times gone by. I also get very frustrated when people ask me too much about stuff and press for details, or even suggest I do something that I hadn’t planned to do. I almost feel violated by questions and requests when, in the past, I would have been so damn cheerful about stuff and compliant.
I don’t want to turn into a female Victor Meldrew, though! I need to manage my stresses, so I persuaded my friend G to try a yoga class with me next Saturday. I am hoping it will do her the world of good too, as she is manically busy at the moment. I haven’t done yoga for years (last time I did a class I was at uni) but I know from experience that it made me calmer and happier. I like to think that these days when I identify a problem, I also now try to find a solution, rather than letting problems either get on top of me (as I did before) or get swept under the carpet (as I also did before. Bad Ilona!!). As such, I think a run is definitely in order for me this weekend, as that too helps me ‘pound out’ my frustrations. Bring it on!
Thursday, 11 June 2009
Anger is a positive emotion, is it not?!
Have had a frustrating day. I’m irritable again, yet this time I can’t blame PMT! I think I am simply having a grumpy week, and should bow to it rather than fighting it.
Interestingly, I’ve discovered a new ‘sensation’ that has only been apparent since I gave up the booze. When someone annoys me now, I can feel a surge of rage coming up inside me, like a sort of hot and bothered feeling and my heart beats faster at the same time. I get really short-tempered and have to physically calm myself down with deep breaths. It’s usually when I am feeling a sense of injustice or being taken advantage off that this emotion is set off, and I really noticed it today and remembered something similar from a week ago.
I was debating earlier today with my friend S, the ins and outs of being a compliant and agreeable person, as opposed to one who said it like it was and stood for no one else’s shit. It started with a Take That concert, strangely enough!!! As a young adult and up until recently, I frequently attended events to please people. It might have been theatre or music or just a dull house party, but I never gave a thought to whether or not I WANTED to go beforehand. I often found myself on a train or a plane heading somewhere and ruing the day I said yes to whatever function I had ahead of me. Lately I have learnt to say, ‘no thanks. Not my cup of tea, lovely of you to ask but I have no interest whatsoever’ in said thing. It’s been like my voice can be heard by me in my head, but the person I am addressing has put their fingers in their ears and said ‘I’m not listening’ la la la la la.
So when once again my colleagues were discussing this morning how wonderful the latest Take That concerts had been, I mentioned that my friend G had been asking me (yet again!!) to go with her to one at the O2. As I said to them ‘which part of I don’t like and never have liked Take That and am totally turned off by the boy band/pop genre in general’ did she not understand? They then said that I would probably enjoy the ‘show’ element and didn’t know what I was missing which is what started me off into a tailspin of anger. No, no, no. I can’t abide all that ‘greased up bodies in tight clothing, prancing across a stage and miming to music which makes my ears bleed’ malarkey. I was an Indie child and a rock fan. I like alternative stuff, some folk and Celtic things but I hate mainstream pop. I would no more suggest they join me at a Paradise Lost concert than fly in the air so what part of them considers my own preferences to be flawed or not fully formed; like if I would only try their choice of entertainment then I might see what I am missing. In actual fact, I probably have tried it during my compliant phase, so am probably well-placed to say no!!!
My friends and associates also seem to struggle with the notion that I am their friend but I don’t share their every single interest. They make it a mission to convert me (be it The Braying Hooray Henry Wanker’s Flower Show or has-been tossers in Lycra from Manchester) and can’t seem to see that I am my own person with my own likes/dislikes. S, on the other hand, regarded by many as a strong personality, does not suffer such nonsense and I can only aspire to make myself heard in the same way as she does. She has tons of friends, a very solid marriage and yet manages to do what she wants and when she wants without incurring the wrath of others, whilst still keeping her nearest and dearest happy. Well, we all need goals to work towards, eh?
Interestingly, I’ve discovered a new ‘sensation’ that has only been apparent since I gave up the booze. When someone annoys me now, I can feel a surge of rage coming up inside me, like a sort of hot and bothered feeling and my heart beats faster at the same time. I get really short-tempered and have to physically calm myself down with deep breaths. It’s usually when I am feeling a sense of injustice or being taken advantage off that this emotion is set off, and I really noticed it today and remembered something similar from a week ago.
I was debating earlier today with my friend S, the ins and outs of being a compliant and agreeable person, as opposed to one who said it like it was and stood for no one else’s shit. It started with a Take That concert, strangely enough!!! As a young adult and up until recently, I frequently attended events to please people. It might have been theatre or music or just a dull house party, but I never gave a thought to whether or not I WANTED to go beforehand. I often found myself on a train or a plane heading somewhere and ruing the day I said yes to whatever function I had ahead of me. Lately I have learnt to say, ‘no thanks. Not my cup of tea, lovely of you to ask but I have no interest whatsoever’ in said thing. It’s been like my voice can be heard by me in my head, but the person I am addressing has put their fingers in their ears and said ‘I’m not listening’ la la la la la.
So when once again my colleagues were discussing this morning how wonderful the latest Take That concerts had been, I mentioned that my friend G had been asking me (yet again!!) to go with her to one at the O2. As I said to them ‘which part of I don’t like and never have liked Take That and am totally turned off by the boy band/pop genre in general’ did she not understand? They then said that I would probably enjoy the ‘show’ element and didn’t know what I was missing which is what started me off into a tailspin of anger. No, no, no. I can’t abide all that ‘greased up bodies in tight clothing, prancing across a stage and miming to music which makes my ears bleed’ malarkey. I was an Indie child and a rock fan. I like alternative stuff, some folk and Celtic things but I hate mainstream pop. I would no more suggest they join me at a Paradise Lost concert than fly in the air so what part of them considers my own preferences to be flawed or not fully formed; like if I would only try their choice of entertainment then I might see what I am missing. In actual fact, I probably have tried it during my compliant phase, so am probably well-placed to say no!!!
My friends and associates also seem to struggle with the notion that I am their friend but I don’t share their every single interest. They make it a mission to convert me (be it The Braying Hooray Henry Wanker’s Flower Show or has-been tossers in Lycra from Manchester) and can’t seem to see that I am my own person with my own likes/dislikes. S, on the other hand, regarded by many as a strong personality, does not suffer such nonsense and I can only aspire to make myself heard in the same way as she does. She has tons of friends, a very solid marriage and yet manages to do what she wants and when she wants without incurring the wrath of others, whilst still keeping her nearest and dearest happy. Well, we all need goals to work towards, eh?
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
Is the glass half full or half empty today? I'll let you decide!
I feel a long and winding rant coming on! It’s just that, well, life sucks, if I am honest. Remember my vow to be thankful every day and all that? Ha ha de ha ha. If only it was so damn simple, eh?
So what’s eating me today? Well, the fact that in general, the right people get shat on and the wrong people reign supreme. Like the government. Does anyone actually sanction them any more? Not only are the incumbents beyond contempt, but coming up behind them are a bunch of fascist, nazi-esque bastards in the guise of a nationalist party. I felt incensed this morning on my way to work (which was faultless in spite of those cocks in the media whipping us up into a frenzy about the tube strike) when I saw the photos of Nick Griffin being egged. Someone please, please explain to me how THAT got elected?
Aside from my total disillusionment with the whole democratic system, is the realisation that the economy is truly fucked. I have some amazing and inspirational friends who are currently working their arses off to keep themselves in jobs, working for companies that have been dumped on since the crunch started. Those that led to the current state of affairs, the investment bankers in the true cockney rhyming slang sense of the word, seem to have seen off the worst of it and are settling back into normality. All the talk of redundancies and institutions collapsing is pure hype. What we are seeing, however, are bankers getting picky again, not moving firms unless they have to, going through to the final hurdle in the job search then pulling out. All the talk of homes being repossessed and the big boys losing fortunes is utter bollocks. I have a ringside seat and it just isn’t like that.
However, all the boys and girls in recruitment are definitely suffering, as they lead us a merry dance with possible vacancies that never come to fruition. Suffice to say I am starting to wonder whether my company can pull itself out of the depression. Things are looking bleaker by the week. We are still staggering on but, unless recovery comes sooner rather than later, reality will bite soon. I am sitting pretty and planning to roll with it, as I have rolled with it so often before. I’ve made it through by staying stoic in the past and won’t be panicking this time around neither.
That said, I have concluded that if the worst comes to the worst, I won’t just jump into any old job to pay the bills. I have finished with the office management malarkey and am thinking more about me now, and what I want out of life. Fact is, no-one else is going to do that for me. You can slog your guts out for someone and be as loyal as you like, but as the old saying goes, you aren’t going to get to the pearly gates and say ‘dammit, I wish I’d spent more time in the office’. I used to be such a diligent, conscientious and faithful employee (I even followed a boss from one sacking to the next!) but have since woken up and smelt the coffee. I get just reward for a job done well and that’s all that matters now. Overtime, breaking my back for people and going the extra mile, only to be rewarded with redundancy, strikes me as a fairly raw deal.
K is also going through the same ‘washing machine cycle’. It’s no easier for his firm than it is for mine. We are both sticking at it as the truth is, we need to milk this town for all it’s worth then get the fuck outta here. We both have an ache to escape to the countryside, having ‘done’ London many times over (and in every conceivable position – fnar fnar). I suppose it comes as no surprise really, that have given up hedonistic and indulgent partying, for a clean and healthy teetotal life, I am now wanting out.
The knock-on effect of going dry is that I have not only evaluated my drinking lifestyle, but also the one that is peripheral to it. I suppose it’s fair to say that abstaining from alcohol makes you see things very differently. If nights out getting hammered are no longer a priority, London starts to lose its shine. K and I have been making a special effort this year to go to concerts, lectures, galleries, plays and top restaurants to get the most out of London whilst we are still here. As rewarding and pleasant as that is, I am sure even that will be exhausted within the next few years, hence the need to consider what sort of downshift we both want. Now there’s a question that I really need to answer, but it won’t be done today. I was out with my friend G last night in Greenwich until quite late, so it’s an early finish for me today and home to my beloved.
NB: two of my colleagues came in today, each with a raging hangover from a massive night out which had ended at 2.30am. If ever I needed proof that I don’t miss that feeling and my pizza and water with G was in fact quite rock and roll, then that was it! Bless ‘em. They have done incredibly well to still be here (at 5.30, though they both had late starts) but I am in no way jealous. They told me about all the drunken conversations they had and showed me the many baaaad photos they had taken and I realised that none of what they remembered would matter in years to come. The slimy old man at the next door table or the randoms they picked up didn’t enhance their lives in any way. They drank for free thanks to the generosity of their assembled company, so the financial hit wasn’t huge, but I can’t think of what they actually got out of the night other than a lot of squirming today, a lot of drunken conversation and some half remembered moments. Interesting…
So what’s eating me today? Well, the fact that in general, the right people get shat on and the wrong people reign supreme. Like the government. Does anyone actually sanction them any more? Not only are the incumbents beyond contempt, but coming up behind them are a bunch of fascist, nazi-esque bastards in the guise of a nationalist party. I felt incensed this morning on my way to work (which was faultless in spite of those cocks in the media whipping us up into a frenzy about the tube strike) when I saw the photos of Nick Griffin being egged. Someone please, please explain to me how THAT got elected?
Aside from my total disillusionment with the whole democratic system, is the realisation that the economy is truly fucked. I have some amazing and inspirational friends who are currently working their arses off to keep themselves in jobs, working for companies that have been dumped on since the crunch started. Those that led to the current state of affairs, the investment bankers in the true cockney rhyming slang sense of the word, seem to have seen off the worst of it and are settling back into normality. All the talk of redundancies and institutions collapsing is pure hype. What we are seeing, however, are bankers getting picky again, not moving firms unless they have to, going through to the final hurdle in the job search then pulling out. All the talk of homes being repossessed and the big boys losing fortunes is utter bollocks. I have a ringside seat and it just isn’t like that.
However, all the boys and girls in recruitment are definitely suffering, as they lead us a merry dance with possible vacancies that never come to fruition. Suffice to say I am starting to wonder whether my company can pull itself out of the depression. Things are looking bleaker by the week. We are still staggering on but, unless recovery comes sooner rather than later, reality will bite soon. I am sitting pretty and planning to roll with it, as I have rolled with it so often before. I’ve made it through by staying stoic in the past and won’t be panicking this time around neither.
That said, I have concluded that if the worst comes to the worst, I won’t just jump into any old job to pay the bills. I have finished with the office management malarkey and am thinking more about me now, and what I want out of life. Fact is, no-one else is going to do that for me. You can slog your guts out for someone and be as loyal as you like, but as the old saying goes, you aren’t going to get to the pearly gates and say ‘dammit, I wish I’d spent more time in the office’. I used to be such a diligent, conscientious and faithful employee (I even followed a boss from one sacking to the next!) but have since woken up and smelt the coffee. I get just reward for a job done well and that’s all that matters now. Overtime, breaking my back for people and going the extra mile, only to be rewarded with redundancy, strikes me as a fairly raw deal.
K is also going through the same ‘washing machine cycle’. It’s no easier for his firm than it is for mine. We are both sticking at it as the truth is, we need to milk this town for all it’s worth then get the fuck outta here. We both have an ache to escape to the countryside, having ‘done’ London many times over (and in every conceivable position – fnar fnar). I suppose it comes as no surprise really, that have given up hedonistic and indulgent partying, for a clean and healthy teetotal life, I am now wanting out.
The knock-on effect of going dry is that I have not only evaluated my drinking lifestyle, but also the one that is peripheral to it. I suppose it’s fair to say that abstaining from alcohol makes you see things very differently. If nights out getting hammered are no longer a priority, London starts to lose its shine. K and I have been making a special effort this year to go to concerts, lectures, galleries, plays and top restaurants to get the most out of London whilst we are still here. As rewarding and pleasant as that is, I am sure even that will be exhausted within the next few years, hence the need to consider what sort of downshift we both want. Now there’s a question that I really need to answer, but it won’t be done today. I was out with my friend G last night in Greenwich until quite late, so it’s an early finish for me today and home to my beloved.
NB: two of my colleagues came in today, each with a raging hangover from a massive night out which had ended at 2.30am. If ever I needed proof that I don’t miss that feeling and my pizza and water with G was in fact quite rock and roll, then that was it! Bless ‘em. They have done incredibly well to still be here (at 5.30, though they both had late starts) but I am in no way jealous. They told me about all the drunken conversations they had and showed me the many baaaad photos they had taken and I realised that none of what they remembered would matter in years to come. The slimy old man at the next door table or the randoms they picked up didn’t enhance their lives in any way. They drank for free thanks to the generosity of their assembled company, so the financial hit wasn’t huge, but I can’t think of what they actually got out of the night other than a lot of squirming today, a lot of drunken conversation and some half remembered moments. Interesting…
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
Where does all the time go?
Had dinner with J, an ex-colleague, last night and we put the world to rights over tacos and tortillas. She’d chosen a fab Mexican gaff in Covent Garden which I can’t rate highly enough – excellent scran, cheap as chips food (pardon the pun and all that!) and the piece de resistance was a large bottle of sparkling water for just £1.50. Yes, that’s right, I get excited about cheap fizzy water nowadays and even ‘tasted’ it to see whether it was carbonated tap or mineral in a fancy recycled bottle, like the connoisseur that I have become – ha ha!
If there is a ’down’ side to the place, it’s that you are cheek to jowl with your neighbour; not quite shared tables but almost. The two geeky looking blokes who sat next to us in bland, off the peg and decidedly drab suits were none too impressed with Jo’s animated stories about the place (that I used to work and she still does) and my guffawing in response. Sorry guys, but the fact is, we were enjoying ourselves and as they seemed to have little in the way of scintillating conversation and spent most of the meal rolling their eyes at each other, I doubt they would have approved of anyone in the same seat!
2 and a half hours flew by and I wasn’t home until nearly 10pm, which just goes to show that not drinking does not make the time go slow, nor does it prevent me from having a thoroughly enjoyable evening. J is very bemused by my pledge, but supportive, and if there is one person I want to have around if/when I resume drinking again, she’s top of my list for a big boozy night. Question is, will it ever happen?
I am starting to get the progressive sensation that my year off the booze may go on beyond that date. Strangely, what’s putting me off drinking again is not so much the being pissed or the effect that boozing has on my appearance, both of which I have come to appreciate a lot more since I stopped. What I really don’t want to experience again is a hangover!! I love waking up feeling fresh and ready to tackle the day. I love having a clear head when I have work stress and need to think on my feet. I love reclaiming Saturday and Sunday mornings when I’d have stayed in bed feeling sorry for myself. Sure, K and I still enjoy a good lie-in, but being able to get up and move around at 7am on a Saturday ‘just because I can’ is incentive enough to stay on the wagon.
That said, and here’s where I admit my weaknesses, I had all these great ideas about going to Borough market before the crowds and Columbia road early on a Sunday, now that that I had reclaimed the time. Ha de ha de ha ha. Still, maybe this weekend, eh? K is talking about going to an exhibition at the Excel centre on, wait for it, guitars, with my downstairs neighbour who is equally guitar obsessed. Perhaps if he gets up early to go stroke all the lovingly crafted instruments (that’s not a euphemism, folks!!) I’ll go look at al the pretty flowers as us girly girls do – tee hee.
If there is a ’down’ side to the place, it’s that you are cheek to jowl with your neighbour; not quite shared tables but almost. The two geeky looking blokes who sat next to us in bland, off the peg and decidedly drab suits were none too impressed with Jo’s animated stories about the place (that I used to work and she still does) and my guffawing in response. Sorry guys, but the fact is, we were enjoying ourselves and as they seemed to have little in the way of scintillating conversation and spent most of the meal rolling their eyes at each other, I doubt they would have approved of anyone in the same seat!
2 and a half hours flew by and I wasn’t home until nearly 10pm, which just goes to show that not drinking does not make the time go slow, nor does it prevent me from having a thoroughly enjoyable evening. J is very bemused by my pledge, but supportive, and if there is one person I want to have around if/when I resume drinking again, she’s top of my list for a big boozy night. Question is, will it ever happen?
I am starting to get the progressive sensation that my year off the booze may go on beyond that date. Strangely, what’s putting me off drinking again is not so much the being pissed or the effect that boozing has on my appearance, both of which I have come to appreciate a lot more since I stopped. What I really don’t want to experience again is a hangover!! I love waking up feeling fresh and ready to tackle the day. I love having a clear head when I have work stress and need to think on my feet. I love reclaiming Saturday and Sunday mornings when I’d have stayed in bed feeling sorry for myself. Sure, K and I still enjoy a good lie-in, but being able to get up and move around at 7am on a Saturday ‘just because I can’ is incentive enough to stay on the wagon.
That said, and here’s where I admit my weaknesses, I had all these great ideas about going to Borough market before the crowds and Columbia road early on a Sunday, now that that I had reclaimed the time. Ha de ha de ha ha. Still, maybe this weekend, eh? K is talking about going to an exhibition at the Excel centre on, wait for it, guitars, with my downstairs neighbour who is equally guitar obsessed. Perhaps if he gets up early to go stroke all the lovingly crafted instruments (that’s not a euphemism, folks!!) I’ll go look at al the pretty flowers as us girly girls do – tee hee.
Monday, 8 June 2009
Just an ickle glass, no?
Back to the Metropolis after some blissful days by the sea. Well, near the sea at least!! Rye harbour is about 2 miles from the town centre by bus and although we made it down there on one of our previous visits, the last few times have been spent pretty much browsing the junk and antique shops in town, eating treats from the deli/coffee shop and in bed!
We did, however, get up to view the town hall on Saturday lunchtime, as I had an appointment with a man from Rye town council, so didn’t have much choice! That said, it was a very worthwhile meeting as it’s a lovely and very historic location and is now all booked for 11 December at 2pm. Yay!!!!
Have now got to move on to Stage 2 of the planning, having agreed date, time and place and so the fun starts now. I can imagine that in amongst all the good things, there will be some pretty stressful moments over the months to come, so am bracing myself and had a trip to see my acupuncturist on Thursday to consider stress management strategies. Twas both embarrassing and amusing when I inadvertently showed her a naked photo of K on my camera and the poor woman was quite flustered. She has treated him in the past and I was just sharing some of the christening photos when I accidentally showed her the one I snapped of him shaving in the morning. I don’t blush easily (usually when I am lying, fact fans, so if want to catch me out then that’s the sign!!) but I felt mortified for the both of us. She has clearly seen his naked torso on her table, but the sight of something illicit and rude was enough to make us both look hastily at the ground!!
I am now starting my seventh week of total sobriety, and the time is just flying by. On Friday I headed down during the day and even managed to avoid an hour-long wait between trains at Ashford by chatting up the conductor! He told me as he clipped tickets that my train left just as the London one arrived to which I responded ‘unless the other one is late or THIS ONE is early’ with a beaming smile. Cue announcement as we approached Ashford that we were 6 minutes early and the Rye train, in case anyone needed it was on platform one’. The Gods were clearly shining down! K came down after work so I joined the other Stepford wives at Rye station (them in twinset and pearls and me in my boho get up!!) as my beau arrived on the 19.54 with requisite pin-stripe suit and copy of the FT on top of his travel bag! We therefore feasted on deli treats and had an early night. Saturday eve we opted for the same relaxed eve of nibbles and music (from the treasure trove that is the Old Grammar School Record Shop in Rye, where the dust is an inch thick but K can still find bargains) and blissed out. Alcohol therefore never even entered my mind.
It was Sunday eve, by which point we were back in Charlton, K was having a bath and I was ploughing through the Observer supplements, when I thought about wine for the first time in ages. I was on the sofa, Paganini on the stereo and just at that moment thought how nice it would be to have a glass of wine. Then I evaluated the realistic prospect and knew full bloody well that a glass would not suffice. I’d happily sip that one but once finished, would traipse through to the kitchen and pour myself a generous second glass whilst I cooked dinner. This would be finished in time for the third that I’d have ‘with my meal’ and the fourth? Well that’s cos it would be rude not to as there would be a small amount left in the bottle otherwise, which just wouldn’t do! I’d therefore be spending today catching up on work after a day off with what I call a ‘thick’ head. Lovely weekend, very relaxing, but all the good work would have been undone by the hangover I would have had today.
I am perfectly capable of not drinking, but once I have the first one the resolve just evaporates. All good intentions are broken down by the alcohol working its magic. Friends keep saying ‘one wee glass won’t hurt’ ‘aren’t you even having a glass of champers’ ‘maybe just a small bit in the glass, eh?’ and I can’t tell you how nice it would be to say ‘sure thing, not a problem, I’ll have a wee bit’. But it won’t happen because that is the fantasy scenario and not the reality. In real life I’d have one, be persuaded (ha ha – with miniscule amounts of pressure) to have another then declare myself off the wagon so that I could overindulge. Stopping at one isn’t in my psyche yet and I hasten to add, I am not even sure that it ever will be. I am 6 weeks in and still dry. I have made some major changes to my life, lost weight, started planning a wedding and dealt with some demons. However, the demon that I am still far from being in control of is alcohol. It doesn’t taunt me often and Sunday was the first time in a while, but it’s just a reminder that nothing has changed yet on that front. I’d compare it to meeting up with an ex. You know, the one who dumped you and broke your heart, but left the door half open in a ‘maybe at a different time in my life it would have worked’ type way. You have it in the back of your mind that they could call and ask to meet you for a friendly drink and you’d go along and have a lovely time but the urge to shag them would be long gone and you’d be highly civilised and restrained? Bollocks. We know it isn’t like that. You’d turn up, see him through those pesky pink-tinted glasses, ply him with booze, start a conversation along the lines of ‘all our yesterdays’ and bingo, you’d bed him. Trouble is, you’d wake up next morning feeling like shit and find him gone with a ‘Dear John-style note’ on the pillow. That’s what wine is to me. My very attractive, always alluring but never satisfying ex; there for the good times but can’t be seen for dust come the bad.
We did, however, get up to view the town hall on Saturday lunchtime, as I had an appointment with a man from Rye town council, so didn’t have much choice! That said, it was a very worthwhile meeting as it’s a lovely and very historic location and is now all booked for 11 December at 2pm. Yay!!!!
Have now got to move on to Stage 2 of the planning, having agreed date, time and place and so the fun starts now. I can imagine that in amongst all the good things, there will be some pretty stressful moments over the months to come, so am bracing myself and had a trip to see my acupuncturist on Thursday to consider stress management strategies. Twas both embarrassing and amusing when I inadvertently showed her a naked photo of K on my camera and the poor woman was quite flustered. She has treated him in the past and I was just sharing some of the christening photos when I accidentally showed her the one I snapped of him shaving in the morning. I don’t blush easily (usually when I am lying, fact fans, so if want to catch me out then that’s the sign!!) but I felt mortified for the both of us. She has clearly seen his naked torso on her table, but the sight of something illicit and rude was enough to make us both look hastily at the ground!!
I am now starting my seventh week of total sobriety, and the time is just flying by. On Friday I headed down during the day and even managed to avoid an hour-long wait between trains at Ashford by chatting up the conductor! He told me as he clipped tickets that my train left just as the London one arrived to which I responded ‘unless the other one is late or THIS ONE is early’ with a beaming smile. Cue announcement as we approached Ashford that we were 6 minutes early and the Rye train, in case anyone needed it was on platform one’. The Gods were clearly shining down! K came down after work so I joined the other Stepford wives at Rye station (them in twinset and pearls and me in my boho get up!!) as my beau arrived on the 19.54 with requisite pin-stripe suit and copy of the FT on top of his travel bag! We therefore feasted on deli treats and had an early night. Saturday eve we opted for the same relaxed eve of nibbles and music (from the treasure trove that is the Old Grammar School Record Shop in Rye, where the dust is an inch thick but K can still find bargains) and blissed out. Alcohol therefore never even entered my mind.
It was Sunday eve, by which point we were back in Charlton, K was having a bath and I was ploughing through the Observer supplements, when I thought about wine for the first time in ages. I was on the sofa, Paganini on the stereo and just at that moment thought how nice it would be to have a glass of wine. Then I evaluated the realistic prospect and knew full bloody well that a glass would not suffice. I’d happily sip that one but once finished, would traipse through to the kitchen and pour myself a generous second glass whilst I cooked dinner. This would be finished in time for the third that I’d have ‘with my meal’ and the fourth? Well that’s cos it would be rude not to as there would be a small amount left in the bottle otherwise, which just wouldn’t do! I’d therefore be spending today catching up on work after a day off with what I call a ‘thick’ head. Lovely weekend, very relaxing, but all the good work would have been undone by the hangover I would have had today.
I am perfectly capable of not drinking, but once I have the first one the resolve just evaporates. All good intentions are broken down by the alcohol working its magic. Friends keep saying ‘one wee glass won’t hurt’ ‘aren’t you even having a glass of champers’ ‘maybe just a small bit in the glass, eh?’ and I can’t tell you how nice it would be to say ‘sure thing, not a problem, I’ll have a wee bit’. But it won’t happen because that is the fantasy scenario and not the reality. In real life I’d have one, be persuaded (ha ha – with miniscule amounts of pressure) to have another then declare myself off the wagon so that I could overindulge. Stopping at one isn’t in my psyche yet and I hasten to add, I am not even sure that it ever will be. I am 6 weeks in and still dry. I have made some major changes to my life, lost weight, started planning a wedding and dealt with some demons. However, the demon that I am still far from being in control of is alcohol. It doesn’t taunt me often and Sunday was the first time in a while, but it’s just a reminder that nothing has changed yet on that front. I’d compare it to meeting up with an ex. You know, the one who dumped you and broke your heart, but left the door half open in a ‘maybe at a different time in my life it would have worked’ type way. You have it in the back of your mind that they could call and ask to meet you for a friendly drink and you’d go along and have a lovely time but the urge to shag them would be long gone and you’d be highly civilised and restrained? Bollocks. We know it isn’t like that. You’d turn up, see him through those pesky pink-tinted glasses, ply him with booze, start a conversation along the lines of ‘all our yesterdays’ and bingo, you’d bed him. Trouble is, you’d wake up next morning feeling like shit and find him gone with a ‘Dear John-style note’ on the pillow. That’s what wine is to me. My very attractive, always alluring but never satisfying ex; there for the good times but can’t be seen for dust come the bad.
Thursday, 4 June 2009
Rye here I come...
Today ought to be Friday as I have tomorrow off, so it’s definitely the end of the week. Yay!! Couldn’t come soon enough, as Rye is beckoning big time. It seems the weather is on the turn and it won’t be very sunny or warm, but that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. What matters is we have 2 days out of the city, in a place we love, with the one I love and right now, there’s not a lot more that a gal can ask for!
So that’s all for this week. Am sure I will have plenty of food for thought by Monday though – ha ha. Am off to see my acupuncturist now and ‘chill’.
So that’s all for this week. Am sure I will have plenty of food for thought by Monday though – ha ha. Am off to see my acupuncturist now and ‘chill’.
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
And as I wake up and smell the coffee...
We had an early finish at work yesterday, as the sun was shining and business was slow. I decided to wander home via Covent Garden and the South Bank and do a wee bit of shopping en route. It was nice to be back before K and have dinner ready, a cup of tea about to brew and be ironing him some shirts by the time he got back, like a true ‘domestic goddess’!
I idled along, actually looking at London for once in my life and getting a whole new perspective on it. I normally speed walk everywhere with a permanently bent elbow bashing any tourist that dares to get in my way and eyes fixed on the skyline giving filthy looks to anyone heading in my direction so that they clearly understand it is them that will be moving!!
I have come to the conclusion, therefore, that most pubs are actually dives. All this propaganda about one closing every day comes as no surprise. It doesn’t seem to occur to people that whilst a pub is indeed the heart of a country village, needing preserved for the sake of the community, the majority are huge spaces which are allocated for drinking with scant regard for design (interior and exterior) or quality of food and beverages. We are all (as a nation) so hell bent on getting access to cheap booze, cheap dinners and somewhere to fag it outside, that we will tolerate a wide variety of what can only be described as shitholes.
I have frequented many in my time and can claim no superiority on this point. Yates’ Wine Lodge, Weatherspoons, the Firkin chain – you name it I’ve been there. I’ve also been to a vast number of lovely pubs, bars and hotels and am not suggesting we close each and every one, but what I would like to see is some sort of quality control. It’s the simple existence of these places with their 2 for 1 offers, happy hours and shots on special, that encourages and glamourises getting drunk.
I walked past two on the South bank that were heaving. As it was a boiling hot day, they both reeked of chip fat, smoke (from the assembled nicotine addicts outside the doors) and stale beer. It was quite simply foul. Both buildings were 1960’s abominations and part of one of the chains, so their character was non-existent. The only reason for anyone going there would be to consume vast amounts of cut price alcohol. Am sure the lager is weak and warm, the wine like paint-stripper and the alco-pops will be lined up on promotion by the till. This, my friends, is the image that greets visitors to London, from far and wide, in search of a real English pub experience. How nice eh? And if they are really, really lucky then can witness a drunken domestic, someone retching between their knees and a crude drinking game. Lovely souvenirs for them when they are recounting their tales back home.
It’s amazing how turned off I was, when I put them into context. Here are pubs (one of which I had frequented on a number of occasions) that I now see as the drinking dens that they really are. There is no experience to be had from going there, no atmosphere to soak up and certainly no wine list or half-decent menu. However, if I wanted to get rat-arsed then this was where to start the proceedings and certainly, in times gone by, where it would have ended, with me heading home via London Bridge more than a little worse for wear. Of course, I would have done this under the pretext of ‘catching up with a friend’ but, truth be told, that would have simply been my excuse to drink a vat of wine. I can see now why pubs hold no allure for K. He is usually fine with one in the countryside that has a garden and a family feel, but in terms of London, there isn’t exactly a long list of places to go that don’t involve being deafened by drunken twats or hooray henrys stepping on your feet and guffawing (they are always so fucking clumsy – must be the in-breeding).
We can map you the West End in coffee shops, however, the finest and the worst and nowadays I am more than content to while away an hour or so outside a Cafe Nero watching the world go by. Hey, maybe I am growing up as I am sobering up and am looking for a more dignified and genteel place to hang out. It also serves as a reminder that getting drunk was usually a great way to forget about sub-standard surroundings.
Anyway, top news of the day is that my wedding is now booked!!! Registrar from Hastings, venue in Rye and all I need to do now is make appointments in Woolwich to register our bans and the first bit is all done. I am more excited by this than anything I’ve done for as long as I can remember!!!
I idled along, actually looking at London for once in my life and getting a whole new perspective on it. I normally speed walk everywhere with a permanently bent elbow bashing any tourist that dares to get in my way and eyes fixed on the skyline giving filthy looks to anyone heading in my direction so that they clearly understand it is them that will be moving!!
I have come to the conclusion, therefore, that most pubs are actually dives. All this propaganda about one closing every day comes as no surprise. It doesn’t seem to occur to people that whilst a pub is indeed the heart of a country village, needing preserved for the sake of the community, the majority are huge spaces which are allocated for drinking with scant regard for design (interior and exterior) or quality of food and beverages. We are all (as a nation) so hell bent on getting access to cheap booze, cheap dinners and somewhere to fag it outside, that we will tolerate a wide variety of what can only be described as shitholes.
I have frequented many in my time and can claim no superiority on this point. Yates’ Wine Lodge, Weatherspoons, the Firkin chain – you name it I’ve been there. I’ve also been to a vast number of lovely pubs, bars and hotels and am not suggesting we close each and every one, but what I would like to see is some sort of quality control. It’s the simple existence of these places with their 2 for 1 offers, happy hours and shots on special, that encourages and glamourises getting drunk.
I walked past two on the South bank that were heaving. As it was a boiling hot day, they both reeked of chip fat, smoke (from the assembled nicotine addicts outside the doors) and stale beer. It was quite simply foul. Both buildings were 1960’s abominations and part of one of the chains, so their character was non-existent. The only reason for anyone going there would be to consume vast amounts of cut price alcohol. Am sure the lager is weak and warm, the wine like paint-stripper and the alco-pops will be lined up on promotion by the till. This, my friends, is the image that greets visitors to London, from far and wide, in search of a real English pub experience. How nice eh? And if they are really, really lucky then can witness a drunken domestic, someone retching between their knees and a crude drinking game. Lovely souvenirs for them when they are recounting their tales back home.
It’s amazing how turned off I was, when I put them into context. Here are pubs (one of which I had frequented on a number of occasions) that I now see as the drinking dens that they really are. There is no experience to be had from going there, no atmosphere to soak up and certainly no wine list or half-decent menu. However, if I wanted to get rat-arsed then this was where to start the proceedings and certainly, in times gone by, where it would have ended, with me heading home via London Bridge more than a little worse for wear. Of course, I would have done this under the pretext of ‘catching up with a friend’ but, truth be told, that would have simply been my excuse to drink a vat of wine. I can see now why pubs hold no allure for K. He is usually fine with one in the countryside that has a garden and a family feel, but in terms of London, there isn’t exactly a long list of places to go that don’t involve being deafened by drunken twats or hooray henrys stepping on your feet and guffawing (they are always so fucking clumsy – must be the in-breeding).
We can map you the West End in coffee shops, however, the finest and the worst and nowadays I am more than content to while away an hour or so outside a Cafe Nero watching the world go by. Hey, maybe I am growing up as I am sobering up and am looking for a more dignified and genteel place to hang out. It also serves as a reminder that getting drunk was usually a great way to forget about sub-standard surroundings.
Anyway, top news of the day is that my wedding is now booked!!! Registrar from Hastings, venue in Rye and all I need to do now is make appointments in Woolwich to register our bans and the first bit is all done. I am more excited by this than anything I’ve done for as long as I can remember!!!
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
Little Miss Sunshine!
I am still full of the joys of Spring (well more like Summer but hey!!). Was a bit hacked off by the end of yesterday but surprised myself by how level-headed I was towards my wee problem; namely that it was my dad’s birthday. I’d sent him a card (even though he didn’t send one to me) and was hoping for some acknowledgement, but none was forthcoming. I was philosophical about it, though, as he’s hardly going to suddenly change his opinion over a bit of card and a first class stamp. I reminded myself that my conscience was clear, which is all that actually matters, and whatever effect it had, he could hardly get upset with me for it. It will have at least raised me in his consciousness and reminded him that whatever he thinks, I do still care.
So I was bright eyed and bushy-tailed today and even made a tentative booking with the town hall in Rye for my wedding. Yay!! Am hopefully going to see the venue properly on Saturday now too, once I’ve talked it through with K, but I know he’ll be pleased as his family were asking for details at the weekend and I knew it was time that I pulled my finger out on that score. Am feeling pretty excited now that I’ve got the ball rolling, and am starting to visualise me as a bride at last (albeit in red with devil horns – ha ha ha ha!!)
The weather is still fabulous so I am sure that is helping, but I also finished one of my ‘drinking’ memoirs last night and have been contemplating how so much of the drying-out period seemed to resonate with me. She said she had been ‘sick and tired of being sick and tired’. She had always felt like the odd one out as a child and had been paralysed by fear over everyday stuff that didn’t faze other people. There was one particularly good line which made me stop reading and really think:
‘Then it comes to me. The [young] girl is me – the happy little girl in me who was lost, drowned in alcohol, little Alice who was terrified every time big, angry Alice neglected her and staggered off on yet another bender. I feel blessed to have rediscovered me’.
I think that says it all. Over the last month (and another week!) I have indeed rediscovered me. I’ve been working out what I like, what I don’t, what I want and what I need to get rid of and I am starting to feel like I am finally living the life of my choice, and not the one that other people had mapped out for me. If I don’t want to do stuff now, I won’t. Every invite is now considered carefully, as it was always my default setting to say yes in order to please everyone, then spend the time running up to the event simply regretting it. I’ve finally cast off the people who did not bring pleasure to my life and am only doing things which truly (madly and deeply!) appeal. That’s not to say that I’ve completely forgotten my sense of duty and obligation (hence the christening was for me of paramount importance as K’s sister has welcomed me into the family with arms so wide I can’t appreciate it enough), but it’s all part of a negotiation now. If someone never does anything for me in return for my devotion, I won’t tolerate it indefinitely. My mother cancelled a trip to Paris with me for my 33rd birthday as ‘your brother has just bought a house and I want to get started on renovating it’. At the time, I was gutted, but said nothing and found someone else to go with. Like the time when they didn’t even bother invite me to their big party for their 25th wedding anniversary as ‘you were abroad and couldn’t afford to come back on an au pair’s wages’ I am utterly dispensable in their eyes rather than an integral part of the family. I slavishly turned up to everything they invited me too and was rewarded with a take it or leave it approach to my needs. Not any more. K has his faults (as all men do!!) but he has always appreciated what I do for him, from cooking his dinner to booking our holidays. He always says thank you and how lucky he is and I, in turn, am rewarded with surprise gifts and endless cups of tea. Hell, he even does the washing up and puts the bins out without being asked!
Life is a system of exchanges and I am finished with being the one that always got the raw deal and never complained.
So I was bright eyed and bushy-tailed today and even made a tentative booking with the town hall in Rye for my wedding. Yay!! Am hopefully going to see the venue properly on Saturday now too, once I’ve talked it through with K, but I know he’ll be pleased as his family were asking for details at the weekend and I knew it was time that I pulled my finger out on that score. Am feeling pretty excited now that I’ve got the ball rolling, and am starting to visualise me as a bride at last (albeit in red with devil horns – ha ha ha ha!!)
The weather is still fabulous so I am sure that is helping, but I also finished one of my ‘drinking’ memoirs last night and have been contemplating how so much of the drying-out period seemed to resonate with me. She said she had been ‘sick and tired of being sick and tired’. She had always felt like the odd one out as a child and had been paralysed by fear over everyday stuff that didn’t faze other people. There was one particularly good line which made me stop reading and really think:
‘Then it comes to me. The [young] girl is me – the happy little girl in me who was lost, drowned in alcohol, little Alice who was terrified every time big, angry Alice neglected her and staggered off on yet another bender. I feel blessed to have rediscovered me’.
I think that says it all. Over the last month (and another week!) I have indeed rediscovered me. I’ve been working out what I like, what I don’t, what I want and what I need to get rid of and I am starting to feel like I am finally living the life of my choice, and not the one that other people had mapped out for me. If I don’t want to do stuff now, I won’t. Every invite is now considered carefully, as it was always my default setting to say yes in order to please everyone, then spend the time running up to the event simply regretting it. I’ve finally cast off the people who did not bring pleasure to my life and am only doing things which truly (madly and deeply!) appeal. That’s not to say that I’ve completely forgotten my sense of duty and obligation (hence the christening was for me of paramount importance as K’s sister has welcomed me into the family with arms so wide I can’t appreciate it enough), but it’s all part of a negotiation now. If someone never does anything for me in return for my devotion, I won’t tolerate it indefinitely. My mother cancelled a trip to Paris with me for my 33rd birthday as ‘your brother has just bought a house and I want to get started on renovating it’. At the time, I was gutted, but said nothing and found someone else to go with. Like the time when they didn’t even bother invite me to their big party for their 25th wedding anniversary as ‘you were abroad and couldn’t afford to come back on an au pair’s wages’ I am utterly dispensable in their eyes rather than an integral part of the family. I slavishly turned up to everything they invited me too and was rewarded with a take it or leave it approach to my needs. Not any more. K has his faults (as all men do!!) but he has always appreciated what I do for him, from cooking his dinner to booking our holidays. He always says thank you and how lucky he is and I, in turn, am rewarded with surprise gifts and endless cups of tea. Hell, he even does the washing up and puts the bins out without being asked!
Life is a system of exchanges and I am finished with being the one that always got the raw deal and never complained.
Monday, 1 June 2009
Richard Curtis, I have a script for you!
Picture the scene: middle of the afternoon on a scorching hot summer’s day in the heart of the English countryside. A ‘textbook’ country house hotel with lawns leading down from a terrace, conservatory and views out across the Surrey hills. A couple get up from a dinner table and walk out on to the terrace, leaving the others to finish the celebration lunch being held after the christening of a beautiful baby. He takes her hand and they wander down the lawn and look out over the fields. She sits down in the shade of a tree and he lies down next to her. The other guests finish lunch and come out onto the terrace for coffee. A small boy is encouraged to run down the lawn and over towards ‘Uncle Kenny and Auntie Ilona’, his arms outstretched. They scoop him up and invite him to join in their game of throwing pine cones into the neighbouring fields to attract the crows to come and decimate the farmer’s crop. Ah – so very nearly like something out of 4 weddings and a funeral, but thankfully, not quite so vomit-inducing!!!
Am still basking in the glow of a fabulous weekend, as I am sure you can tell! It was about as perfect as they come and all the more memorable as I enjoyed it so much without a single drop of alcohol. We stayed in a fantastic (and luxury) B&B, it was lovely to finally meet all K’s family, the day (including my reading) went without a hitch and we were home and on the sofa with the papers to chill on Sunday eve. I felt so at peace this morning, as if the joys of things had just started to come back to me, all without the aid of a glass (or 10!) of wine.
As we came home through Greenwich on the train yesterday at about 7pm, I had a flashback to an old life, the one I spent with an ex-boyfriend. I was picturing the scenario, had it been with him: down on the Saturday eve and over to the family for a meal. Insufferably boring conversation over dinner, so we would have made our excuses in order to hit the pub before bed time. We’d have woken with a hangover on the Saturday (on a good night – I daren’t imagine a bad one) and then ended up somehow being late for the service. Reading done and over to the reception, first thing I’d have grabbed was a drink. That would have sorted me for the afternoon, as it was flowing freely and then we’d have set off home about 5ish. On the way back we’d have reached Greenwich, bathed in sunshine and would have agreed to go for another one at a pub there as it was such a lovely eve. 1 bottle (conservative estimate) later and we’d have staggered home and woken on Monday wanting to eat a horse and smash the alarm clock.
That’s the absolute truth of it – no holds barred. Every single event of that kind that we attended, over the course of 5 years, ended messily and with regrets. A free bar would have made his eyes stand out on saucers and I’d have done my darnedest to keep up with his consumption. If ever I needed a reminder of what I am NOT missing, I sure as hell got it then. We had spent the weekend laughing non-stop, playing with the kiddies and catching up properly with people. Such a contrast and one I am ecstatic I can now make.
Am still basking in the glow of a fabulous weekend, as I am sure you can tell! It was about as perfect as they come and all the more memorable as I enjoyed it so much without a single drop of alcohol. We stayed in a fantastic (and luxury) B&B, it was lovely to finally meet all K’s family, the day (including my reading) went without a hitch and we were home and on the sofa with the papers to chill on Sunday eve. I felt so at peace this morning, as if the joys of things had just started to come back to me, all without the aid of a glass (or 10!) of wine.
As we came home through Greenwich on the train yesterday at about 7pm, I had a flashback to an old life, the one I spent with an ex-boyfriend. I was picturing the scenario, had it been with him: down on the Saturday eve and over to the family for a meal. Insufferably boring conversation over dinner, so we would have made our excuses in order to hit the pub before bed time. We’d have woken with a hangover on the Saturday (on a good night – I daren’t imagine a bad one) and then ended up somehow being late for the service. Reading done and over to the reception, first thing I’d have grabbed was a drink. That would have sorted me for the afternoon, as it was flowing freely and then we’d have set off home about 5ish. On the way back we’d have reached Greenwich, bathed in sunshine and would have agreed to go for another one at a pub there as it was such a lovely eve. 1 bottle (conservative estimate) later and we’d have staggered home and woken on Monday wanting to eat a horse and smash the alarm clock.
That’s the absolute truth of it – no holds barred. Every single event of that kind that we attended, over the course of 5 years, ended messily and with regrets. A free bar would have made his eyes stand out on saucers and I’d have done my darnedest to keep up with his consumption. If ever I needed a reminder of what I am NOT missing, I sure as hell got it then. We had spent the weekend laughing non-stop, playing with the kiddies and catching up properly with people. Such a contrast and one I am ecstatic I can now make.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
