The One Where I'm Waiting For Something To Go Wrong...

*blows dust off*

Oh hi there. Yes, it has been a while hasn't it? Well, I've been busy. I had a baby and got a new job and well, life kept happening. Except it's been happening rather well and it's now that I start worrying.

The irrational behaviour of my brain has been something I've battled with for a while. When things are going rather badly, I always find some sort of positive to get me through it. It's quite strong in that way. But that means when things are actually rather peachy, I'm worrying that something is going to go wrong.

What is it that makes me unable to cope with life being ok? At this moment in time I have a job, The Hairy Drummer has a job, we have two healthy and happy children, we have a nice warm house to live in and food in the cupboards. The general health and happiness of our nearest and dearest is in fine fettle too.

But there's a niggle.

Let's call him Nigel. Nigglesome Nigel has settled himself into my head and is whispering that something is bound to go wrong. It can't be this good for long. It never is for you, he whispers, almost cackling with glee at the thought of this glimmer of perfection crashing down around me. And I listen to him even though I know he's wrong. But what if he's right? There's always something isn't there? Like my house burning down and losing my job. Sure, that could've been all my bad luck for a while but what if it's not?

It's at this stage that self-sabotaging becomes a very real prospect. I just want to hide under my duvet and not come out, preferring to lose myself in an endless supply of books and box sets. I did this once and ended up flunking university and therefore life at that time. It ruined friendships and what I'd thought my future would be. Nigel niggled and said I deserved it, that I wasn't as great as I thought I was, that I was just another failure. It took a while to shut him up but when I finally did, everything was ok.

And so it is now. Luckily I'm able to call upon some excellent people who understand what I'm thinking and why I think it. It's learning to do this, to not internalise and listen to Nigel, that helps you through. It doesn't make Nigel go away completely but at least I can tune him out today.

The One Where We Catch Up

Oh dear. I'm sorry. It really is a case of it wasn't you, it was me. I've neglected you again and I'm sorry. Truly. But this is what's been happening....

I had to go back to work. Full time. Which is time consuming in a boring way when you don't have internet access during the day.

My dad decided that his visit would coincide with Christmas and last for seven weeks instead of the five he'd planned.

My house still wasn't finished.

The Daughter reached her fifth birthday unscathed.

My house still wasn't finished.

And now? My house still isn't finished. That's right, dear reader, I have technically been homeless since July 2009. Considering I won't move back in until May 2010, that's nearly a year. I could have done a petty crime and been housed at Her Majesty's Pleasure and been released in that time. Or grown a baby.

You know how I said I thought I'd got a builder who understood what a schedule was? Yeah, that didn't happen. Instead The Loss Adjuster and The Surveyor decided to go with the cheapest quote. One of the first things you learn when you deal with builders is that you never, ever go with the cheapest quotes.

Ever.

Because stuff like this happens. It's too dull to recount but at the moment, the builders are an impressive 12 weeks behind schedule. The fact that another company could have done all the work in 12 weeks is neither here nor there. The fact that the lease on the temporary house ran out 4 weeks ago is also, apparently, neither here nor there.

Meanwhile, The Daughter and I are ensconced at my mother's, Teh Kitteh is annoying The Archaeologist and The Hairy Drummer is annoying his parents. It is far from ideal and I'm tired from trying to get things moving along at a more acceptable pace.

And to top it all off, Arsenal are currently losing to Spurs.

Bah.

The One Where I Don't Get Other Parents

So The Daughter started school three weeks ago and I had to mingle with Other Parents. When Sartre said hell is other people, he obviously had not met Other Parents otherwise he wouldn't have been so generic.

I'm not entirely sure what to do with them and what I consider to be their bizarre parenting actions. Allow me to explain.

On the first day, The Archaeologist and I did the dutiful parent thing and took The Daughter to school and went with her to her classroom. Once she'd found her peg and name to put on the wall, she waved us off cheerily and away we went, pushing through the throngs of wailing children and weeping parents.

On the second day, The Daughter politely informed me that I didn't need to go in with her as she knew where she was going and besides, she was a Big Girl now. Quite right too so again, cheery waving and away I went, pushing past wailing children and weeping parents.

On the third day, there were barely any wailing children yet still the Other Parents were taking their little darlings into the classroom, taking their coats off for them and generally fussing.

Three weeks later and they're STILL doing it. I'm at a loss to understand why. Do they have so little faith in their children's ability to perform simple tasks like taking off a coat??

But then you hear how they talk to The Little Darlings. It's all very nice and polite. All asking and no telling.

"Can you please not push that child over [insert horribly trendy middle class name like Alfie here]? It's not very nice is it?"

"Oh he's full of high spirits today!" as said high spirited child is running around screaming and generally being irritating.

There's no telling off, no discipline, blindness to the fact that their cosseted darling is behaving badly. But then here's the amazing thing - I'm asked how I get The Daughter to behave and do things for herself and eat all her food without fussing, like it's some kind of nuclear secret.

The thing is, there isn't a secret. I simply tell her what to do and she does it. If she doesn't then she knows she'll be in trouble. She eats all her food because she knows if she doesn't there's nothing else until the next meal. I know parents who've made up to six different meals in order to get their child to eat what amounts to a full one. Surely this is lunacy? Why teach them that they can have whatever whim they decide on? Why teach them that they're the ones who can call the shots?

I don't know whether it's because the Other Parents are older (or seem it at least) than me. I don't know whether it's because they've read every 'parenting manual' (dear Jeebus, don't get me started on those...) ever published and their heads are filled with so much conflicting information that they have lost all capability of thinking for themselves.

What I do know though is that for all intents and purposes, how they parent is none of my business and they've probably had the same thoughts about me. I just hope they don't ask me for any more advice!

The One Where Overhearing Made Me Laugh

Oh dear girls of the world. If you all think how these two unfortunates do in the following conversation I overheard between two girls working in H&M the other day, then I weep for you and the future of mankind.

No, really. People this stupid or, more kindly I suppose, naive will bring about the apocalypse.

Girl #1: So really, when he's not talking to you or like texting you or y'know, he's not ignoring you. He's really just like really thinking about what he wants to say to you.

Girl #2: Really?

Girl #1: Yeah. It's like he doesn't want to say the wrong thing so he's like really taking the time to think about it before. Men do that.

I couldn't hear any more of this fascinating exposé on the inner workings of men's minds for laughing too hard and then being glared at by these poor creatures.

They'll learn. We all do at some point hopefully.

The One Where Everything Seems To Be Coming Together

I'm bringing this missive to you, dear reader, from the comfort of a bed on a gloriously sunny, if crisply chilled, September day. I am positively revelling in my unemployed status so long as my bank account affords my this luxury.

Also, I've found a builder who understands that simple jobs don't take that long to do and that I may be back in my own house before Christmas.

And The Daughter has started school with no problems whatsoever.

And two of my lovely friends got married.

And I got my shiny new laptop.

And some new shoes.

Life, at the moment, is pretty alright actually.

The One Where It's My Birthday And I'll Cry If I Want To But I Don't Think I Will, Thanks All The Same

Dear reader, today you find me one year older and having to remember to say 28 when people ask me my age.

You wouldn't think that being asked my age happens a lot but somehow to me, it does. Maybe it's because I don't feel 28. I certainly don't act 28 a lot of the time and (though I do say so myself) I don't particularly look 28.

You also find me ruminating on my life's work - my accomplishments and my failures. I think it's important, especially when things don't seem to be going all that well, to have a good think about all the good things you've achieved and to work out where you went wrong on the things that didn't turn out quite so well. My life at 28 is certainly a lot different to how I imagined it would be when I was 18 but that doesn't make it worse or better than what I thought it'd be. At the same time though, it's important to keep hold of dreams and aspirations and understand that over time they will change and you will fulfill some and dash others.

And so, with all that naval-gazing out the way, I'm off for a posh meal in the country with The Hairy Drummer, who has got me a surprise present. I haven't told him I tend to be disappointed with surprise presents but I'm sure it will be made of win and awesome.

The One Where July Was Actually The Worst Month Ever.

July officially sucked monkey ass. There is no sugar coating of this. It is an undeniable fact.

Not content with my house burning down and my grandad being in hospital with inoperable cancer, the very last day of July threw another round of fun and games into the mix by me being made redundant. Oh and possibly losing another job due to the idiocy of the local council believing an arts university needs a swimming pool.

Yep. July really sucked.

So what happened then? Well, as we know, I had the inconvenience of the house fire which in itself spawned a whole other world of meh. I'd had my work laptop at home and that melted and my amazing IT department took 3 weeks to send me a new one. Except they'd configured it incorrectly. So it took another week for the only IT guy who knows what he's doing to have a free slot to come and fix it.

So this also meant I was a month without proper (by proper, I mean speedy and preferably non IE) access to the internet which was, quite frankly, like having a limb lopped off. So Never Enough Shoes went on forced hiatus and I let down the Domestic Sluts by failing to contribute anything as everytime I tried, the ancient dsktop I was working from seized up and refused to exert itself any further.

Never mind, I thought, The Daughter starts school in September so I can look forward to reduced hours in the office and more time with her.

No, no. The luxury of being able to take her and pick her up is not for me. Here you go, NES, here's a letter telling you that you're pretty much redundant! Oh and by the way, your boss doesn't know yet!

Le sigh.

But, every cloud does have a silver lining and sometimes a rainbow. I've calculated that I should get a fairly decent pay off which will afford me a bit of time off which will be most needed. And it finally means that I can look at getting a proper (by which I mean something useful that I'll enjoy) job without the safety net to hold me back.

As Chandler from Friends said, soemtimes you need The Fear. I have it but I'm not scared.