A long weekend beckons, and I'm looking forward to doing very little for a few days.
Sadly, work commitments (read crappy rota designed by lazy, useless waste of space of a boss) I wont be able to go to a naming ceremony for a friends atheist baby. Or do I mean an atheist friend's baby? Meh, whatever...

Tiredness has been combatted with soup, tea and a hot shower.

Goodnight!

There is much that has happened this weekend, but I need to sort it out in my head before I write anything down.
When I have I will write something, and it will all seem so much smaller than it does now. I'll end up wondering why I wrote it.

Exceptions prove rules...

And today was a good day. I enjoyed work.
My Crap Boss didn't annoy the shit out of me.
The Ignorant Git on my level was in a right mood, and it didn't bother me.
The plant seems to have gone into one of its "I've decided to behave" periods.
All of which was unusual, to say the least.

Even the drive home was fine.
Alain de Boutain was on the radio on my way home. He was very interesting and I was wondering how this guy has managed to get so completely under my radar. Further investigation is needed.
Following on from that (in a very loose way) I'd always had the expression "The exception that proves the rule", as most people I've heard do, completely wrong
The expression is, of course, not using the word "prove" in the sense of proving who, or what, did something, but in the sense of "proving ground", thereby, to test, possibly to destruction.
Clever stuff, eh?

Bloody hard going at work today... Bloody hard going out of work too.
Am listening to the radio and planning to have a bath.

Sorry, thats about all I can manage at the moment.

I like to catch up with the telly now and again, just to remind myself why there is no need to catch up with the telly.
Thick people hosting dinner parties, Antiques, weird bodily malformations, and weird costume dramas on a Sunday evening will mean I can listen to the radio, read, and surf the net without needing to think about the visual broadcast media for about another week.

I think some alternative 80s music is the order of the day.

Tactical error?

I loved a post from Tinman on St Patrick's day, so I sent it to an Irish friend via facebook.
She posted it on her wall.
I'm now wondering if she realises the comment from me on Tinman's page was, well, from me. And if she makes the connection, has she realised that it links to this blog...

Well - Did you? Let me know if you are reading this,Mrs O'Reilly.

Actually, I think I'm happy for her to know and to be able to read this, but... I must remember to be more careful. I don't want to be the next Belle du Jour. There are similarities, though I'm not blonde, pretty, an escort girl, a girl.... Woah!! Better stop there before I'm exposed completely! The Daily Mail will be at the door any minute!

The worst day of work I ever had has a relevance, if somewhat obliquely, to Tinman's latest post.

I'd recently started a job and my training was going pretty well. I was happy, really enjoying myself and working out of St Albans, most of the time, though the firm had sites all over the country, and the South East especially.
One day I was asked rather suddenly to take over two sites in deepest South London that were being run by a guy I'd never met. So off I trot, via train and tube and bus to meet my mate Nick at the first site.
"We've got a bit to do.." he said over a pint with a bit of a odd expression lurking around his eyes.
I let it pass, and we planned our route. 2 sites, and two more subsidiary sites to visit.
As we neared the first Nick turns to me and says "Look, there's something I need to tell you."
I waited.
"You know, Thingy, well, err, there's a reason you're taking over for him."
"Well, I'd assumed there was..."
"Yeah..." Another long pause. I'd figured this wasn't going to be fun.
"Well," Nick said "Yesterday, Thingy did his days work, went to the supermarket, did his weeks shopping, went home and took a massive overdose. He's in intensive care."
Wasn't a lot I could say to that.
I spent the rest of the day with people asking how he was, and looking at me like I'd given him the drugs. It was horrible.

The worst thing was that he'd obviously not planned it. He'd filled the fridge with food for a week and, according to Nick, he'd seemed in fine form when he'd had a drink with the guys from work before leaving, and had seemed fine to his flatmate when he'd got in. The flatmate had then gone out for a couple of hours and found Thingy on the kitchen floor when he got back.
I don't know what happened to the guy other than he survived and was back home with his parents. He never came back to work, and wasn't mentioned much after a while.

For me, the horror of that day, and it did fill me with a horror, was that he could have done something so appalling so flippantly. Everyone was affected and it just seemed so selfish I swore I'd never do anything like that. Now when things get that bad that the thoughts enter my mind, I try to remember how people he knew looked and felt.
And it stops me.

The Rollercoaster still rolls on... Night shift, insomnia, LL's BF having another aggressive freakout, being almost penniless 2 days after payday, Mother's day, and work are all making the downslope steeper.


I want to write so much, but don't seem to have the energy or the inspiration to make it worth reading, or make it work for me. It will just be more moaning.

I keep hoping the upslope will start soon.

Saw my dad today.
Was nice, but he was very antsy. He's nearly 70 and a law unto himself. All was going nice when he suddenly stood up and said "Right I have to go!" with no warning at all.
Such is the way he is these days. I didn't say anything, or object, I was just pleased to see him, even for a short while.

Internet has been disconnected for a few days... Lots of shouting at people in India has finally got it back for us.
Then a stressful day taking Number 1 Son to a university open day.
All was OK on the drive up there, then the initial meet/greet/tour was fine. Suddenly, out of nowhere I was hit by a massive panic attack. I managed to duck out of the lecture and walked down the road to an art gallery where I spent a pleasant hour. As I left I spoke to the girl on the desk about the collection. She did a great job of being genuinely interested and pleased at my comments, which made me feel pretty good, no matter how fake it was.

The rest of the day was better.

grinding on.
too tired for much else.

I have a prescription for "My Mate Zac" as the LBJ and I refer to fluoxetine.
My next decision is whether or not to get it filled. I never filled the last one, as I just didn't seem to need it -it sat on my desk as a safety net if things got any worse, they didn't, so it lapsed.
One reason for not wanting to fill it is that "its inclined to affect me prowess!", as Flanders and Swann said... Well - it actually removed the need/feeling/interest for some considerable time. And for some time after I stopped taking it.
That might be a shallow thing, or it might not. I no longer know.
I do know that I don't like it.

I have read my own blog. I need help.
I'm going to go to talk to my doctor in a day or two.

Another depressingly long slog of work over the next few weeks.
2nights, 2 off, 7 days, 2 off, 4nights, 3 off, 5 days, 3 off, 4 days, Bank Holiday weekend, 5 nights.

I just want to give up. Stop. No more. I'm crying all the time. I can't get rested. I hurt. If I had £50 in the bank I'd quit the place and never go back.
Why can't I find a job that doesn't want to kill me? The last 4 jobs I've had have all (at one time or another) made me work ridiculous hours, injured me, harmed my mental health, and left me worse off in pretty much every sense of the word.

Is that the way it is for everyone, or is it just me? It certainly feels like its just me... When I was out with my friends recently one guy was telling me what a tough time they were having. I sympathised as he told me about the renovation of the new house, the problems with his £40K car, the trip to Mexico, Florida, Costa Rica and Jamaica... I didn't tell him how I felt about his 25-30 hour week, the time he can spend gaming online, the stay at home wife raising the kids, and the fact that he stops work in early December and starts again in February. Happy Xmas! I'm bitching. He works hard in his way, and I know there are times he does a lot more hours than that... but...

Oh, what's the bloody point?