Back to the Start

Today is my last day at work this week, thank god. Tomorrow, Him and I are off to Southampton for the day, having decided that going to France might pose a serious danger to April in terms of us filling her with so much booze she may collapse and die.

It's been nearly four years since I left Southampton, and I'm stupidly overexcited about going back there tomorrow. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to have a proper snoop around the university, or if we'll just go into the town centre, grab a shakeaway ( http://www.shakeaway.com/southampton.html ), and see if the shop that used to sell the best trousers in the world is still there.

As for the rest of the weekend... haven't decided yet. Except that at some point the house needs cleaning in preparation for LotusMomma's visit next month. Doom!! (The cleaning, not the visit...)

Most of all I'm hoping to finally get some proper sleep, as the cost of my insomnia in radiance lotion and anti-fatigue foundation is becoming extortionate.

Wish me luck, and send me some sheep to count...

When I Lay Me Down to Sleep

I am so tired. I haven't been sleeping properly for a while now, and I've got to the stage where I feel like a zombie. I sit here at my desk and I seem to be moving just a fraction slower than the rest of the world. It's disorientating.

I think the lifting of over a year's worth of extreme stress is now taking its bizarre toll on me. Things just don't feel right, especially when I'm lying awake at 4am and thinking about how I have nothing to worry about - and what on earth do you do if you're awake at 4am except worry?

I might have to buy some sleeping tablets, if only to give Him some respite from my restless duvet-disturbing and mattress-kicking.

Normal Service is Resumed

I just spent 45 minutes writing a post about the unpleasant email I've been receiving in relation to this blog. The one about me being a 'godforsaken whore' was a particular highlight. However, I've decided I'm just going to say this instead: I put my thoughts (and to some extent my life) out here in the public domain, and of course I'm aware that some people aren't going to like 'me'. But you've got problems if reading a few pages of someone's blog prompts you to write an email of abuse that made even me turn pale. Fella, whoever you are, you need help. I just hope you get it before someone smashes your face in with a baseball bat.

Anyway...

Random news of the week: you know how Boots put little security tags on expensive things like perfume or electrical goods? Well guess what? They've now started tagging... cellulite creams!! I almost wet myself laughing when I noticed. I have this image of desperate women, seeing summer approaching, trying to smuggle tubes of L'Oreal's finest out under their coats. Fabulous.

Acquiring April and The Money seems to have given my social life a large shot of adrenaline. I now have plans every weekend until mid June, and I'm pathetically overexcited. Particularly as the next two weekends involve a trip to France with Him, and then a trip to Edinburgh to see Princess Di. Hurrah!

It's been a strange couple of weeks though, I have to say. My head's not together yet, to be honest. But I'm getting there, I hope.

Californication

I wonder if I'm right in my idea of what it's like to live on a fault line: you try not to think about it most of the time, every now and again there's an earthquake warning, or even a small earthquake, and afterwards because it wasn't The Big One, you feel a huge relief. But at the end of the day, you're still living on a fault line. And while there's no guarantee that The Big One is ever going to actually happen, the possibility is always there, and if you're brutally honest, you know the only solution to that would be to get the hell off the fault line.

But then, if everyone thought like that, California would be empty, right?

The End?

I think I'm going to vomit.

Had a huge row with Him at lunchtime about children and my aversion to them.

He has now emailed me to say He's been thinking a lot about what He wants and doesn't want, and we 'need to talk'.

This is either going to be "I don't want to leave Essex ever" or "I want children now" or "I don't want you if you don't want to live in Essex and have children".

If it is any of the three above, this probably means my marriage is over.

Excuse me, I actually am going to be sick.

Crushed **UPDATED**

Went on an outing yesterday with Queen of the Irish, Nambo, Cliffhanger, Him (of course) and a couple of others. And it got me thinking:

What, in the context of marriage, is the moral position of a crush?

[Just realised that that opening sounds a bit Sex and the City. I knew I shouldn't have watched a whole series of it on DVD over the bank holiday weekend. Apologies for any Bradshaw-esque overtones...]

I mean, assuming that one would never act upon it, fancying someone else from time to time is pretty normal, right? I've discussed here before my irritation at the fact that once you are married, it is somehow assumed that you don't find other people attractive anymore. Of course you do. You just choose not to do anything about it because you value what you have with your partner/ husband/ whatever more than you value sex with someone else.

But my dilemma is this: it is all very well to stare at a stranger on the tube and have a little fantasy, or to let a guy in a bar buy you a drink and flirt a little bit. But what about when the person you have a crush on is a friend of yours, or even a friend of BOTH of yours? And what if he has a crush on you too? Is there a line beyond which crushing becomes wrong? And if so, have Nambo and I crossed it?

**19/4/06**

Judging by some of the emails I've received on this one, you all think I'm far more of dirty slapper than I actually am. Clearly, then, I need to explain something to you: NOTHING HAPPENED. Someone in my life made comments that made me feel shitty about being friends with someone there's an attraction with. Justified? No. Fair? No. Accurate? No. But we all know that feeling ooky about something doesn't always have to come from a place of justifiable ookiness, and sometimes writing in this blog is a good way to clear things up in my head.

Jesus, I can't believe I feel the need to justify myself to a bunch of strangers, at least half of whom appear to think I'm a moral black hole.

Go fuck yourselves.

Oh Joyous Eastertide*

I'm sure that for many of you, Easter is time of great spiritual renewal and religious significance. Not for me though. It's four days off work and a cast iron excuse to get pissed.

I have to go round to the Munsters for Easter Sunday, but at least there will be wine and chocolate (hang on, wasn't that my consolation at Christmas?!), and now that we've got April, at least she can take us there and back so we can leave when we (well, I, let's face it) want to. But the least said about that the better.

Other plans... sleep, lie around, see some friends... you know, the usual. Though to be honest with the hangover I've got today, all I can think about right now is sleep. If it wasn't for my spellchecker working overtime, you probably wouldn't be able to understand a word I'm typing this morning. Wine has stolen my coordination, and apparently all of the water from my body. It's only caffeine and Olay radiance lotion that are keeping me going...

So happy Easter everyone (is that allowed? Wishing happy Easter? Isn't it about Jesus dying or something?) or sad Easter, or whatever.

See you later alligators...

xx


*A song I can't think of without remembering the brilliant Rivals by Jilly Cooper, in which sexy Declan's mad housekeeper Grace keeps singing it at Christmas while drunk.

Drama Queen v The Bank

Now, you know that for a long time I've been just dying to pin down the directors of Natwest bank and kick them in the balls till they burst. Well, it seems I may have found a way to hit the bastards in the one place it will hurt them even more than the bollocks - the wallet.

If you'd like to know how, please visit my new spin-off blog 'Drama Queen v The Bank' here: http://dramaqueenbankfeud.blogspot.com/

Living for the Weekend

This whole inheriting-some-money thing is more stressful than you'd think. Seriously. I mean, I don't want to sound ungrateful (because believe me I'm not) but where I thought it would be a lovely relief, it's actually more of a tension headache at the moment.

The thing is, if it was just being plonked into a nice high-interest account to keep us both in the manner to which we'd like to become accustomed, then fair enough. But because it's all being split between various debts and so on, it's actually quite complicated. I seem to have spent half of the weekend on the phone with various banks, credit card companies and the like, and the other half lying on the sofa with a flannel over my forehead moaning "Make the numbers stop, make the numbers stop"... which it turned out only a bottle or three of Pinot Grigio was able to do.

[Just a quick aside here, because it's been bothering me all weekend: why, when you phone your credit card company, does it ask you to enter your account number and security details on the automated menu, only to have the 'customer service' (using the term loosely...) person ask for it all again when you get through to the real people?! (The only exception being Barclaycard, who had a cheerful chap saying "Hello Mrs _____, how may I help you today?" when I finally got through, rather than some stroppy bitch barking "Account number?" - such a shock I almost dropped the phone)]

I feel like I somehow lost the weekend, and so I am looking forward to the upcoming long weekend with gleeful anticipation. Especially since we have just acquired a new addition to the family. April is a 16 year old silver Ford Escort with a few dents and some snazzy tweed upholstery, and she's going to add a lot of value to our lives. Welcome April, we salute you.

Today's Post

You can read my thoughts for the day on 'Dramatical Passion for Politics'.

They're not all that nice though.

Filthy Lucre

The Cheque is here, and soon most of my credit cards will not be.

I would write more, but I've got a killer champagne hangover.

Suffice to say I'm in a very good mood.

Pieces of Me*

Queen of the Irish and PianoMan came round last night for a few beers. I'm increasingly convinced that they should fall in love, get married, and have babies. But we shall see. I'm just saying it now so that if it does happen I can wave this blog entry around and shout "See? SEE? I know ALL, and you are all just PAWNS in my EVIL GAME!"

*ahem*

Moving swiftly on...

I submitted to some skincare hype and bought some illuminating/ radiance/ glow-like-a-goddess stuff on Friday. And I must admit, I am looking more radiant and glowy. Maybe not 70% more radiant as promised on the packaging, but more radiant nonetheless. I was slowly trying to wean myself off buying beauty products based purely on the advertising, but it seems I've failed again. Still, at least this one works.

The Cheque should arrive in the next couple of days, and will render me/us 19% less indebted (yes I worked it out, yes I'm a geek) once I use a large chunk of it to pay off some credit cards. Perhaps a better way of putting it is that it will decrease my credit card possession from 9 to 3 (yes, I have many credit cards, no it is not all shopping debt). I kind of feel sick with the anticipation. And not all in a good way. I am bad with money, and suddenly being given quite a bit of it makes me nervous. Luckily I have been mature and sensible and taken financial advice, so I don't think there's too much margin for screwing up on this one. I hope.

The sun is out, and my SAD (officially diagnosed, I'll have you know, none of this 'I must have SAD because I don't like mornings') is pretty much passed for another year. It's been remarkably better this year, mainly I think because I work in an office which has one wall that is 75% window, and it lets in a lot of light. As ever, though, the passing of SAD marks the advent of Bikini Fear Season, which is why I have started morning workouts again. Yep, I was out of bed and cardio-boxing at 7am... (that's some Fear!)

Hmmm. This has been a very long entry. So I shall stop now. I'm in a rambling mood and I'll blather on all day otherwise...




*This is a Tori Amos reference and NOT, repeat NOT, an Ashleeeighay Simpson one.