What is it now? What?

Item – We are preparing for our voyage to the Chalet of Terror (as HFF so fittingly named it), for the In-Law Extravaganza. So far the preparations have involved me accidentally finding the sun-screen, and having a panic-attack about my passport (when I, apropos of nothing at all, suddenly muttered ‘shit!’ and hurled myself towards the study, H leapt after me shouting ‘your passport’s FINE.’ And then he claims he is neither observant nor empathic. LIAR). We set off on Wednesday. Ample time for dithering about trousers and which of the 97 books I wish to take will actually fit in the suitcase. Ample.

Item – I admit I am in a bit of a state (my God, you mean your last post was a clue?). This culminated last night in me losing it with H for not having done his teeth yet, inconsiderate swine that he is, and rapidly passed through the ‘and another thing!’ fringes of disconnected lunacy before landing with a tearful squelch in ‘And My Entire Life Sucks’. And then I looked up at H through red and puffy eyes and said ‘This is PMT, isn’t it? I know you’re thinking the same thing,’ and his ears went absolutely scarlet.

Item – The thing is, I really don’t like my job. Not because it’s a bad job, or at a bad place, or among bad people. Obviously, there are frustrations and the odd work-place loon, because that’s standard and how work just is. But I don’t like it because it’s not what I want out of my life. At all. I thought perhaps getting a professional qualification and a proper full-time job like a real grown-up would help. Actually, it’s making me feel increasingly trapped and dear God I am so bored. If I had a private office, hell, a private cubicle, and if I had more flexible hours, then I think I could take it, as the work itself is interesting and I am good at it. But, as any fule kno, Hell is other people. Even when they are harmlessly humming to themselves or slurping Cream of Pondweed soup at the desk next to me or peering over my shoulder to ask who I’m emailing and why I’m emailing instead of cataloguing those DVDs on the urgent shelf. (We in Britain spell cataloguing with a u. Because it’s French, apparantly, but when we first adopted the word in the Middle Ages we spelt it without the u, by and large, so this is mostly affectation. But it’s our affectation, so it must be right).

Item – Anyway, I am in a bit of a state. Is it very noticeable?

Item – Furthermore, today is 10dpo. For the past few days I have been having odd cramps and twinges. Yesterday (9dpo) my temperature dropped, bastard temperature, possibly not helping with the ‘My Life, Suckage Of’ crisis, as I thought this cycle was a bust. Today, however, temperature was higher than ever. I mentioned this to H (well, he did ask what my chart was doing, so…) and he gave me a hug. I was impelled by Mysterious Forces to say ‘and the last and only time my chart did that…’ but H interrupted, saying ‘I know‘ very firmly indeed, earning himself several brownie points for observation (again, when he next insists he’s not very observant, one of you set fire to his pants for me, would you? Because, LIAR).

Item – And I went bra-buying today. After much wrestling in and out of various confections of lace and elastic and wire, I bought another copy of the rather plain and menopausal bra I got last time I went bra-buying. Because seeing my squashed nipples through the mesh of a sort of frilly shrimping-net was depressing me. Also, bra-shopping with noticeably enlarged and painful breasts is a very very silly idea. I am an eejit. I need more bras. Arse.

Item – So, basically, I am pissed off with my job, and Bitch Hope is tearing holes in my trouser-legs, and I only have three Internet Pee-Sticks of Doom left. I had two batches, which ended up in the same box. One batch is labelled 25 mIU, and the other isn’t labelled at all, so is probably more of an ‘oops, you’re crowning’ mIU. I have two of one and one of the other. I am pretending I have none at all, and this is all nothing to do with me, and on Monday I am going to the Big Chemist near work to get my prescription for mefenamic and tranexamic acid, and lots of sticky-back duvets, and I am not going to go and look at the pregnancy tests at all, oh no, absolutely not, so there.

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6 responses to “What is it now? What?

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    I should not be reading blogs. I should not. I am, God help me, working. Still. At 1am. But I saw your feed pop up and couldn’t resist having a peek. Have umpteen 10 mIU tests I can bung in 1st class post Monday? Say the word?

    Because my crossed fingers are hopeful about your temperature and crampy twinges, see.

    Love.

  • QoB

    v sensible strategy. I applaud you.
    bra shopping is fraught with pitfalls, I find, and the nice ladies who measure you don’t, in fact, help. so you continue to rock your menopausal bras and lacy knickers combo:)

  • a

    I have one of the trendiest careers out there (forensic scientist), and I find it interminably boring. When I had some leverage, I made a coworker trade desk locations with me and turned the desk around to create a fortress in which no one can see me. You know the secret to a happy employee? One who has enough time to get their work done well with adequate time to (well, I don’t know the appropriate British colloquialism, but here we call it fucking off) waste. I hope you can muddle through until you find it fulfilling again or until you find something else.

    I’m hoping that the twinges mean something…

  • Womb For Improvement

    I’m with you on the job thing. To be honest for me it isn’t about the work – which is interesting – or the people who range from lovely to tolerable. But basically I shouldn’t be there. I should be at home with child on the tit.

    Hope has left my flat this month but you won on the top trumps, so your turn this time and mine next month? That would be good.

    I still shudder at the thought of two set of parents in the same mountain retreat. Yu are a brave, foolish, woman.

  • twangy

    I hope too, for you. But quietly, so as not to up any ante. Shhh, me. (I hate that Bitch Hope, too, except when I love her.)

    As for the FTJ (full-time job) – the horror! I mean, yes, it has its points, the Christmas parties, the camaraderie, the money. But! the hours they expect you to spend at it? Insanity. FAR TOO MANY. Who devised this 9-5 thing? NOT I.

    The joy in any activity would be killed by that alone. This is why I prefer to work on my own in a garden shed, take any amount of breaks, and go crackers in private. However as this is not an option for someone who works in a library, might I suggest a under-desk bunk a la George Costanza?

    Not sure what the right thing to say is when someone must spend time with family in a Chalet of Terror.
    Keep your head down, and come back in one piece?
    Good luck! Hey, maybe it’ll be surprisingly okay.

  • Secret D

    Wowsers! I feel exhausted just reading your blog. You need a holiday girl, a break away from it all.

    I know what you mean about the job thing. I’m having serious doubts about being in the library profession but I am too lazy to get off my fat arse and do something about it. It’s far easier to sit and whinge about it.

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