Category Archives: Rants

Trundling along…

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So, I get up at 5am, am at my desk by 5.30 am to answer work emails, then at 6.30 am get big guy up, we all leave at 7.30 am, I aim to be at my desk by 8.30 am after dropping big guy off, then workcoffeeworkcoffeeworkcoffee, then leave to pick him up at 4.00 pm, homework, housework, prep dinner, pick up the other half between 6pm and 8pm, bath and bed for big guy, dinner and coffee for me and other half, then work emails, and bed by 10.30 pm, after makelunchesclothesoutplanthenextdaygotobedoldwoman.

So unsurprisingly the creative urge is flat.

September is always like this though, I’m not worried by it. What will happen is that the emails will slow, the nights will get darker, and I’ll have more time to think. To decide on certain movements in the work; where the drama will peak, where the comedy will flow. I’ll be able to create terrible moments for my characters without a second thought; right now I’m so tired all the time any pain for them is too much to bear.

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I just finished this; nothing bad happens. NOTHING! Not a thing! Perfect!

I wish you all the silence and rest of a bookshop just for you. Night night.

 

Well that’s just not good enough, is it?

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I have six minutes to type this blog…

Remember the food fest from yesterday? I got on the scale today and saw I have managed to put ALL THE WEIGHT BACK ON.

I’m like Trump’s Money, I would be in exactly the same state if I had just left it alone. So I stomped off to work and planned to have a work-out this evening.

But, no work-out! The guy I normally check out on YouTube had deleted all his videos, and moved to a paying platform. Well that is just great!! I looked up the platform, mainly to give him a piece of my mind; really, with no warning, it was just too much.

So, there I discovered his longer piece. He has been making these videos for over five years, and devoted a huge amount of time to them, usually at the expense of his family. He has devoted himself to them over and over, all the while working in, wait for it,

Retail.

He has produced hundreds of videos, for no economic reward. He’s seen them downloaded, bootlegged, mirrored and sold on, all the while he’s been producing them. And not making any more money than someone selling cigarettes on the roadside. And his mental health has suffered too: YouTube commentators are infamous for their sense of entitlement, their nitpicking, and he’s become more and more focused on likes, views, etc. And all the while watching it be downloaded and spread making money for other people.

So he has surprised over two hundred subscribers and moved to a paying platform. And as someone who will argue over and over that labour has to be paid for, really I am in no position to argue. Kid’s got a point: pay for the video.

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You do EVERYTHING wrong.

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I’ve gotten to that happy stage where all/nearly all the jobs are done and I can go to bed. I woke up tired, I got through the day tired, and I’m tired now.  And you know how I know I’m tired? My other half is laughing at the computer and he is too BLOODY LOUD!

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My lack of love of humanity is growing. I always wanted to find myself on a desert island with the absolute assurance of never meeting anyone.

Right now he is laughing, and coughing, because he had a cough, and I am going to kill him.

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THIS REFERENCE IS 26 YEARS OLD

I did manage to exercise, and to stick to my diet. I’ve found some earnest thing on youtube who insists on maxing the envelope, and so forth. My cup runneth over.

Right. The daily endurance that is my life is over for another day. Good night to you all.

Sparkling Wit, and Graceful Repartee.

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Repartee.  Repartae? Tae? Cup of tae? Is there any? No? Not to worry, all good then.

I am very tired. I had a busy, and stressful, day, and it has left me almost disassociating I’m so tired. I can’t even get the caption thing to work on this blog and I’ve no energy to get it right.

I’m just done, all. Everything is loud and noisy and I’m listening to old time jazz tunes so that it doesn’t clash. As far as I know I didn’t go over the diet, but wow at what a cost. I use food to make me happy, and I am not happy right now.  I’m going to drink this coffee, and go to bed, in hopes it will keep me upright for the next half an hour.  Night night.

 

Oh, p.s. I would like to thank my computer for spending 40 minutes upgrading this morning, thereby making my 5 am wake up utterly unnecessary.  Nicely done.

 

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The Katering Show. I very much recommend.

Into Action

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So.

Day three.

One of the most difficult aspects of life is the conflict between reality and expectations.

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Speaking as someone who tries to avoid reality, who is surprised by it and who has no business in it, I remind myself that just because I expect things to go one way, does not necessitate that it actually will.

Meaning; I can plan this, but the actual experience is less than I expected.

I eat to reward, to placate and to provide succour, and the anticipation of that comfort will get me through the day. How else to keep the demons at bay and my rage on hold?

In brief; I kept to the near zero carb count, and am feeling less and less joyous about life, a sure sign that I’m on a diet. I carried out a thirty minute workout, and have a pleasant muscular ache on foot of it. The near constant rain today made everyone soporific, and the lack of high or low meant it appeared to be a Wes Anderson film.

Tomorrow I am back to work, with three separate and very competing agendas re-entering my life.  Wish me luck.

 

If I Can’t Eat, I Spend.

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Day One.

This is the beginning. As best as I can figure it will take me over one hundred days to lose this damn weight. One hundred and forty-four to be exact, and that’s just an optimistic hope on my part.

But today? Today is day one.

So breakfast was an omelette. Lunch was scrambled eggs. Afterwards was a different type of treat, where I had a coffee with a friend I haven’t seen since Christmas. There, I had a salad that tasted a lot better than it should: greens, walnuts, feta cheese and figs. We had a fantastic chat, and we made it even better by going to the bookshop afterwards. I had a great time.

Pile of books

Oh, yes….

Does the fact that I read so much make me a better person than you?

Yes, yes it does.

 

Anyway. Home, to a dinner of bacon and mozzarella cheese, followed by tea with a ranting blog. Time for bed, and the first day is done. Done!

See? Easy! *Twitch*

In a south Dublin Bedroom

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It is late, and dark. A man and woman lie in bed. He silently leans towards her, and she quickly turns over and away from him.

He lies there, staring at her, frustrated and hurt. She is as still as a stone, not looking at him. He doesn’t move, but continues looking at her.

But then, something terrifying to both of them happens. A strange shadow moves in the corner.

Alarmed, they watch in horror as it quickly solidifies into the figure of a middle aged man, who then walks towards them. It turns out it is a priest, urban, but untouched by the circumstances of his appearance.

Unaware or unconcerned about their fear, he speaks as though in a coffee shop, or perhaps Doctor’s office.

“I see,” he says, “that you are refusing your husband his conjugal rights. Have you thought about using the excuse of no contraception as a method of rejection to him?”

For a moment the couple are silent. The insane conjunction of an unwanted priest, and the words out of his mouth render them speechless. The woman recovers first (and why wouldn’t she, she’s used to this rubbish) and takes a breath.

“Listen here, sunshine. Firstly, you have no right to be in this bedroom; you weren’t invited.”

Father Trendy isn’t put out by her attitude. He merely nods and sits on the end of the bed. He opens his mouth to speak, but she’s not done.

“Secondly, I am not refusing my husband his rights. I am maintaining my own, and for reasons that don’t need to be explained to anyone else. You are aware I have bodily autonomy?”

At this, priest-boy falters. Mired in the works of St Paul and the 1 Timothy 2.12-13, he sees women as the handmaids of men, nothing more. He’s still trying to come up with a correct response when she continues.

“Also, why would not using contraception allow me the right of refusal? My own will, thought, inclination and desires matter so little that I need to come up with an excuse? That’s the best you can come up with? Not only am I just a tool, himself is just a child to be placated?”

Priest-boy leans back slightly, gathers himself, then leans in. “You seem to be of the opinion that your marriage is a loving relationship, and that you can just opt in to procreation. Your every act of intercourse should be open in principle to the gift of life. How can you refuse someone sex if you aren’t going to get pregnant from it?”

She’s speechless again, and he’s happy about that. Women disagreeing with him were disagreeing with God, he knew, and they really did have to cop on as to how wrong they were. But damn and blast it, she was going to speak again.

“You seem to be of the opinion that the only way God can be found to exist is in the procreative principle; that by pregnancy is He to be found. What about compassion, respect, seeing God in not just the creation of life but the betterment of it as a life is lived? Or does God not fully love us at all?”

He’s done, confused; either he rejects the principle that God loves us each moment, or he recognises that there is no concrete reason for the theological principals surrounding procreation. She sees the confusion and seizes it.

“Enough! Out you go.” And with the slam of a door, he’s gone.

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Game of Tonnes

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Monday

I get up and do my lovely extended physio, which now takes 20 minutes. It is getting easier, and I have a voice in my head that says it is because there was never anything wrong with me in the first place. Traffic is ridiculous, pointless; by the time I get to work I’m so near tears at the effort it takes me a while to get started, and then before you know it it’s time to pick up Big Guy again. How the hell can I improve on this?

 

Tuesday

I get to work in the usual panic, and then have to go on a walkabout meeting with someone from Estates. I want to set up a room in our building where students who are still nursing are able to nurse their babies and store their milk in privacy. We find a lovely room, attached to student officers’ rooms, and it might just work. We examine two other prospects, but they are either in use or in filthy condition, they won’t work. Estates aim to confirm my chosen room is vacant for use, but it looks good. I spend the rest of the day in hopeful planning, then pick up big guy and then home.

 

Wednesday

A voicemail tells me that the chosen room isn’t looking good; they were incorrect in the room number, leading them to give me incorrect information. The guy in question in charge of the room is polite when I ring him, but wants to know who told me it was free? I seem to have stumbled into a political issue, and I finish the conversation with the sense of going back to the drawing board, damn it.

Phsyio is today as well, and I arrive at 12 noon ready for the punishment. There’s a moment when I am lying face down, feeling the same resistance in mah old glutes, when I ask the nice young man, “So, Karl, was it the glamour that led you to become a Physiotherapist?” I’m joking, but the pain is leading me to sweat and close my eyes. Wow, but this is hard. I get another extended session to do at home, and I can do cycling sessions in the gym now. I’m actually a bit giddy at the idea.

 

Thursday

Super-duper important meeting at 10.30 am. I go, so far the other side of nervous I’m not nervous. I’m so blatantly unqualified for this I can only get through on bravado.

Don’t look down ya silly!

How did the meeting go? It moved in the right direction. But no firm result. I need to write up things and move things, and be political and talk to folk, but I can’t because the door keeps opening and students and colleagues have the nerve to expect things, and what do you know it is home time already. I leave campus with the sense of just shutting the door on a hurricane.

Come on ta fuck.

We got back home and had dinner with Big Guys Nana. She wants to go on a diet, and I want to go on a diet. My success at losing nearly 60lbs has led me to be complacent about my eating habits, and with no exercise means I’m gaining fast. I promised to do up a diet plan and get back to people. Then the other half and I headed off to a Parent Teachers Meeting. It was just a briefing on the children’s schedule, no individual chats at all. It did remind me how rarely I talk to the other half by ourselves with room to breathe, to be honest.  We go home afterwards just exhausted.

 

Friday

I GOT TO THE GYM!!!

I got there at lunchtime. I did twenty minutes on the bikes, and everyone was nervous and pouting and afraid to look human, whereas Mrs Doyle here was just having a blast. I will tell you though, that I was silly enough to not wash my make up off first, and that was a bad idea; I have an outbreak of spots and no one to blame but myself. But hurrah, exercise! And it didn’t hurt and everything was fine!

Work, emails, the usual. I was so happy!

 

Saturday

Took Big Guy to the library. He seemed unaware of just how bloody magical such a place is. Nevertheless, we got out Where the Wild Things are and that seemed to break through his disinterest.

I had a slice of bread mid-morning, to the derision of the other half. “Thought you were going on a diet?” Oh, it is on, best beloved. Watch me go.

We get through the day, then bath and bed, and as I am reading a story for Big Guy I switch off. I don’t mean I get fatigued, or sleepy. I mean the tank is empty in a way I can’t explain, and I need to lie down. I go down stairs and finish the coffee waiting for me, then back upstairs. I just put on my pjs and lie down, thinking that the coffee will surely keep me aw-

 

Sunday

Morning. It’s 6am, my brain convinced this is the time to wake up. I lie there, shockingly tired. I’m reminded of the time I gave blood but didn’t rest up afterwards like they all insist you should to, and as a result was dizzy and tired to the point of tears. I get up when Big Guy comes in at 7am, but I am short tempered to the point of abusive all day. There’s no other word for it. I just have nothing left in me. When the next door neighbour’s kid calls round I’m so relieved, the effort to entertain him is almost too much today. I put him to bed after dinner, and then write up this blog. I still have to look at my emails, plan the week and get myself cleaned up for tomorrow. I will use next week to do up the diet plan as well, but I will need to go easy on the exercise if I do. It’s almost zero carb and exercising on that is nearly impossible at the start.

Right. I’ve lots to do and miles to go before sleep. Away with ya now.

Temperatures, Tantrums and Tonics.

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Monday
Little man wakes up and is tired. Tired and not eating. Tired and not eating and not able to move from the couch. I take his temperature and he has 38.9 temp. Back to bed with him, working from home for me. My brother calls up from Kilkenny and delivers a huge amount of apples. I picture myself making apple pie and tarts in a pastel pinny. I can do this. I carry out my physio before bed, and wow I am in pain. Bed. Tomorrow I will be a model of efficiency, I promise.
Tuesday
Little man has a perfectly fine temperature, it’s as if the last day didn’t happen. We are all up, out and back to our usual routine without any problems. I get myself to work and get through everything by setting a timer against myself and just thrashing through it.

Boop…beep…boop…beep

In the afternoon I have to attend a financial workshop that is attended by some of the great and the good of my esteemed workplace. We eventually discover that none of us understand anything about financial details, and that the creators of said workshop need to go back to the drawing board. I leave early to collect big guy, who has had a normal day. We go home and do his Maths homework, then dinner and bath for him. For some reason I open my laptop and play uninteresting computer games until ten thirty pm, then I have to get up and do chores and physio for another hour before bed. Why on earth do I do that to myself? I have physiotherapy tomorrow as well..
Wednesday.
The morning goes well enough (up, dressed, school run, get through work). I have a lunch planned at 12 noon and I am in the cafe in good time. No one else is there, and when I check my emails I see no firm arrangement was made. Am I going mad? I was honestly certain it was on today. I head over to the physio session at 1 pm, and the only word for it is ‘Ow’.
The only way to get through it is to get through it. I make myself just remember how much I want to go running soon. There was one moment when Karl, the resident sadist, said ‘There’s a lot of soft tissue damage to your muscles, Claire.’  ‘Let’s be honest Karl, there’s really only soft tissue around there anyway.’  I don’t know if you’ve had anyone laugh while prodding you in embarrassing areas, but ooh, gosh, I can’t recommend it enough.
I realise when I go back to work that there is an exam meeting the next day at 9.30 am. This is another example of my foggy thinking, like my non-existing meeting at 12 noon. I put my head down and get through the five programme reports that have to be generated and reviewed, before fleeing to pick up beloved son at 3.30 pm. I am not panicking.
All is good with him at School, but in the car park we encounter a crazy lady. My car door touches her car door, and she. Freaks. Out. We’re talking hands on either side of her head, and she nearly starts screaming. ‘It’s a company car!’ she yells at me, and she insists on taking my insurance details. I raise a badly plucked eyebrow at all this. Normally I am Ms Empathy, but the field where I grow my fucks is all barren right now.
I’m all ‘there there’, and just get on with it. At one point I look down and her girl is looking up at me, looking as if I’ve kicked an elf. I get my kid into my car, and we head away. I look at her as I go and they are in their own car, staring at me.
Car

The offending mark. Feel free to magnify. 

That evening, the little guy opens his mouth over dinner and throws up everywhere. I wash him up and put him straight to bed, then go through the usual nighttime routine; Coffee, tidy up, wash the table, sweep the floor, make lunches for the next day, prepare  breakfast, clothes out, shower, hit up MyFitnessPal and then journal my delightful day. My brain is more dead than Trump’s credibility.
Thursday
I am up and ready for this wonderful day. I go through the old, rather than the new physio session. The early morning meeting that I was all worried about goes well, mainly because I am so good at hiding my sheer inability at coping with life. The un-arranged meeting from yesterday happens today, and it goes well too. I get through the rest of the small stuff in the afternoon but honestly my brain is on ‘Lint-Time’.
I pick up the big guy and there is no sign of crazy lady.
However. Over dinner I get an email saying that she is going to a recognised dealer to fix her car and to send her my address for the bill. I tell her, no, I am not paying for anything, I’m entitled to seek up to three quotes and she is to get a quote only. She tells me it has to be this dealer, but she’ll only get a quote if I insist. Yeah, I insist. I go to bed worried and don’t do my physio. Bold Claire.
Friday
Awake at 4am by the child, and I’m unable to get to sleep. I get all worried. But I am up at 6am and I get all of us up and out okay, the other half is okay for being woken so early.  I get myself and big guy to school okay, no sign of crazy lady. I get to my work, and I get through things mainly because of coffee.
Exam results have to be confirmed and amended where needed. Done.
It’s the end of the financial year, and items have to be receipted and confirmed. Done.
Students want to call in and confirm their subject choices are all good and confirmed, done and done.
I pick up the big guy and we go home to practise the letter S for his handwriting. Then it is time for dinner and his bath. When I come down, everything is cleaned away and sparkin’, thanks me darling. I go to my grateful bed after physio, and with no emails delivering bad news.
Saturday
Marched for repeal of the 8th, and I hope you did too.
Sunday
Ate all around me, and got ready for the week. Still no emails demanding money. I am close to burning sage to warn off bad juju here. Pick up big guy and we did the letter S. Then dinner, coffee, all cleaned when I come down. Bed and sleep. No email. I come across this image on Facebook and start laughing hysterically. Me and my brain call it a night, and go to bed.

Oh, Unclench.

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Monday: Right. Once more into the breach, and all that. We are in the zone, and we get to school and work without too much problems. As I arrive at work, I discover that a crucial colleague is out sick, meaning my morning is taken up with the project she was going to handle. The day flies in an montage of forced smiles. Yay.

Tuesday: Physio day. I head over to the sports clinic and sit in a chair while beautiful and earnest athletes pass by. I feel ugly and ridiculous, and get to feel worse when a young man in a wheelchair comes in and waits in the same area. The entire process is a new type of torture for me; having people touch me is the equivalent of someone asking me to hold a spider in my hand; it won’t hurt me but it is bloody unpleasant. Turns out I have deep muscle injury in both my hips, and my glutes are way too tight. I discover this face down on a table while mah flabby butt is being prodded by an earnest cleanfaced kid, and I can hear myself asking disbelievingly, “You mean I need to unclench?!”

I’m given a series of exercises and am told to come back next week where it will really hurt. Ah for feck’s sake.

Wednesday:The exercises hurt a lot, especially in my knee. No way should I be hobbling with a new injury because of this. I ring the kid and he tells me to do a variation on it. The call takes 20 seconds, but the fact that I ring at all is new; normally I would have blamed myself for the pain and gotten on with it. Look at me, growin’.

The sky wears a wig of rain all day long, and I find myself sulking in the evening. Stupid rain.

Thursday: Lots of important meetings, and the really important one goes okay. I strongly suspect that I am not being taken seriously, and so resolved to go over their head. Hey, I could be dead next year, I need to move fast.

Friday: Sing praise and hallelujah, it’s Friday. Work is done as much as my fried little brain can take, and I go home with a sense of exhaustion that is hitting me much too early in the college year. I have miles to go yet.

Saturday: I start the day earnest, with many good plans. Luckily they will still be there for me Sunday, too. Oh joy.

Sunday: Summer’s last perfect day.  I have coffee with a friend, and a long walk with the boy. I hope all goes well for everyone out there, but next door is having a moment. Her separated husband did the dirt on her with her best friend, and said best friend just tried to walk in the house to “talk about your relationship”. What a piece of scum, especially when the children were there, standing behind her. She’s shaky-brittle with the shock, but insists she’s fine. She heads into her house with an air of breathless pain, and I watch her go wishing I could make it better.

Some people are bears throwing things, when it comes to relationships. They don’t even see how much damage they do.

 

Night all.