Weirdly busy with all sorts of non-things that are keeping me from you � not actual, real, exciting things from which I could form readable diary entries. Just crappy old non-things that are taking up all my time, energy and brain power (not always in that order) and leaving me a withered husk of my former self. A fat, withered husk, obviously, but a husk nevertheless.
God, I�m fat at the moment! Not �Jerry Springer, cut me out of my own house� fat, but definitely podgy enough to make me feel like a frumpy old lady. Unsexy and dowdy. I would like to blame the whole �post cancer instant menopause� thing but that would involve not confessing the sheer volume of cake and biscuits I have been ramming down my cavernous gob these last months, and the lack of�err�.moving about that I have been doing. Aha! I can blame L! If he wasn�t being such a knob-head, then we would be having more sex and I would not be typing this with one hand and holding a part-munched Kinder Bueno in t�other.
Anyway. Lets be nice about L instead of rubbishing him roundly in a distinctly �disloyal wife� way. He has his first photography exhibition in two days time and DON�T WE KNOW ABOUT IT! I know he�s excited about it and I know he wants it to go well and I know there�s a lot of time and effort and (other people�s) money gone into making it successful but BLOODY HELL WILL YOU SOMETIMES TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE OR IM GOING TO KNIFE YOU. Aaargh. I�m a horrible person. But on Thursday, I shall be a horrible person, with a smile on my face and a new frock on (and some SERIOUS underwear, to give the illusion that I still have a figure), and shall do my level best to encourage the good burghers of the borough to part with between two and six hundred quid for some (actually jolly good) limited edition, framed photographs, most of which are large enough to cover an entire wall of an average sized house.
Trouble is, I�m so inured to the climate of failure that habitually hangs about L�s big projects, that I�m really struggling to see how this particular venture will do anything other than plunge us into even more penury and force our marriage into a more precarious position than its current �edge of the precipice� state.
If you have a God to pray to (or a handy goat to sacrifice) then, dear Diaryland, let it be now that you offer up your gifts, that we might just, FOR ONCE, have something go right for us. We fucking well NEED it.
Other things that are causing me grief and wild gnashing of teeth at the moment (in list form, but I might expand them a bit if the football match that I�m currently watching doesn�t get significantly more exciting. By �significantly more exciting� I do, of course mean �we start winning instead of being 1-0 down�, obviously).
I�m supposed to be going as Margaret Thatcher because my hair keeps forming itself, unbidden, into a passable replication of her shampoo and set, but I have done precisely nothing towards a costume of any sort. If you can think of a do-able historical costume that I can pluck from the air with about 24 hours notice, do let me know wont you?! L is torn between Abraham Lincoln (I�ve told him he must make his own hat and that�s putting him off a bit) or reprising his role of last weekend as William Wallace. Blue face, kilt and all.
Yes, we went to a costume party last weekend, too. It was a �film� themed one, so the William Wallace was just �Braveheart� really, and we only cobbled that costume together because we couldn�t find the cowboy hat that goes with the Clint Eastwood costume.
*brief hiatus while I look for the previous picture I posted of the Clint Eastwood costume. Dammit. Can�t find it. Its in my archives somewhere*
I went as Rizzo which was a stupid idea as there were about fifty Pink Ladies there (ok, five) and even tho I had the wig and the right clothes and the proper makeup and everything, it still pissed me off that my costume wasn�t unique and I was in a right grumpy mood all night. L was bored too so we just got up and walked out at about 9.45. I thought that would still give us enough time to get to Asda and buy some beer but they had just shut when we got there and there was an ex pupil of mine from last year hanging about outside looking forlorn. He�d obviously failed to get any beer too, which is probably just as well as he�s underage.
Speaking of pupils, I�ve got a new one in the Mad Bad and Dangerous to Know department. He came in for the first time today � I haven�t seen him for a year or so when he was in my class in the main school and he�s been MIA since then, really. Using my professional judgement (and quite a lot of just having lived for a few years now) I would say he was most definitely off his face on weed. We hear that he�s been dealing so I need to keep an eye on him a bit, I think. If he comes back tomorrow, that is, which is reasonably unlikely.
I also need to keep an eye on my youngest pupil. He�s in the special unit because he�s mid court case and cant be mixing with his peers as he isn�t allowed to talk about the case. I didn�t know what he�s done so I assumed maybe battery or ABH as he�s a bit volatile but I found out by mistake today (someone didn�t edit an email carefully enough before they forwarded it) and its worse. Much worse. I cant even conceive of how gruesome it is, actually. I wish Id not seen the email as, well, innocent until proven guilty and all that but��.aaaarrrgh. Its fucking awful.
I�m wondering whether I want to do this job next year. Its hard, dear diaryland, really hard. And its draining, physically and mentally, to the extent that I can barely do anything else other than go to work, come home, fall asleep in the chair, lather, rinse, repeat. Found out yesterday that the burn-out rate for someone doing my job is two years.
Hmm. 10.15. Time for me to get in the kitchen and start on Jooj�s birthday cake. Yeh. I don�t have a lot of time during �normal� hours, so I�m making a birthday cake in stages and putting each bit into the freezer, ready to be assembled on Saturday. I�m typical �my kids are a bit funny� style, I�m making a book. Out of cake. As requested.
Why cant she just go to a nightclub and do shots off some meathead�s biceps like a normal 18 year old.
*tssk*
Later
S
X
PS Hahaha! They just said �the waters off Gibraltar� on the news, which made me think of this advert