Doom and Gloom

Maybe this was too much of a risk. I completely fucked up my CV by resigning, and I may very well have messed up any future chances of getting another comfortable, predictable and well paid PA role. But I always knew that. That didn’t stop me taking the leap.

What I didn’t know or expect, was that perhaps this situation wouldn’t magically just work. Having browsed job ads for two weeks now, I have discovered that part time roles pay about half of the hourly rate I was on. And at half of the hours, that means bringing in about a quarter of what I once did when I should be really looking at half. So now I’m suddenly just feeling quite hopeless about it.

Really hopeless. Tearful and hopeless.

So – hopeLESS. Seems negative feelings and qualities get a ‘less’. So why is it tearFUL. Being full of tears isn’t a good thing, even though I do believe it’s healthy to cry if you feel the need to.

I’m an emotional creature, so this being day one of Auntie Flo visiting doesn’t help. I do get really quite depressed when I’m on. What I should do is use these low, awful feelings for Monica – that would be an excellent way of turning something stupid into something productive. But I can’t, because right now I just feel like forgetting Alice and move on, forget that I once thought I had a chance of bringing her to life.

Dude the dog looks at me and I feel just like the way he looks. He doesn’t quite know what’s going on either.

Jeez, if anyone reading this is sitting there slumped against the bath tub, bottle of vodka in one hand and a razor blade in the other, this is bound to tip them over the edge. So let’s change this sorry tune.

Our flowers are dying.

Shit, that’s no better. 

Seriously – don’t kill yourself, it isn’t worth it. I know I just made you think life is not worth living, but ignore me. I’m just like this because I’m about to bleed for five days whilst my cervix is cramping away like a motherfucker. I feel like reaching inside my own body and rip out my uterus, it’s just not worth having all this pain and hassle.

Oh, and I’ve started to get really bad stomach pains around ovulation too. Well, I’m approaching 40, so perhaps it’s Mother Nature’s way of telling me to get a move on if I want any more kids. I don’t. I somehow managed to produce the most magnificent little person, and I’m happy with that. Perhaps if my marriage hadn’t crashed I would have been up for one or even two more, but since Monkey’s dad and I share care, I just couldn’t have face having another child – not that the right relationship came along, but I mean if it had – and have Monkey feeling that there’s a sibling who’s with me all the time whereas he’s some kind of part time child. He is NOT a part time child, but you get my drift. I had step siblings, I know what that felt like at times. I don’t recommend it, and that’s coming from someone whose parents did a pretty good job of it.

I often wonder how Monkey really feels. On the surface he’s a happy, content and harmonious child, but at 9 (almost 10) years old, can you tell like that? Or could a child be desperately unhappy yet keep up a charade? I don’t remember acting at that age, but then I’ve always been someone who let their feelings be known, I’ve always been communicative that way. Hah! I remember how my mum in particular couldn’t quite handle this little emotional and creative soul who felt so much and had so much to say. So I used to write her long letters, with all the things I wanted to say. I’m not sure she ever read them, I don’t think she did, they would probably have made her uncomfortable – feelings weren’t discussed in that way.

But how does Monkey feel? Does he think it’s ace that he’s now been sat in the comfy chair with his iPad for over an hour, or does he feel neglected by mum who’s disappeared back to bed to write morning pages?

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