After the Storm

Well, it's looking like Sunday night is going to be my regular blogging night, if only because it is the only free time I seem to have these days. Outside of watching DVDs from my Sex and the City box set. That's taking up a lot of time.

This week, I told my mum and dad that hubby and I were getting serious about looking into adoption. I had mentioned it previously to mum and she had been vaguely against/for. It's hard to know what she really thinks of things sometimes, because she tries so hard to say what she thinks she is supposed to say. And with me, she never knows what she is supposed to say.

One conversation we once had about adoption, she said to me "your dad's not keen". Just like that. Your dad's not keen. No thought about what those words might do to me. Your dad's not keen, like we were duscussing a holiday destination or something.

So anyway, I had a day off and I was helping her paint her spare room. I brought the subject up again. Casually. Said we were going to start talking to agencies and stuff, just, you know, putting it out there. She seemed supportive, maybe even a bit excited. Then I said I was going to talk to dad and she tried her very best to put me off. I didn't need his permission, she said, he wouldn't listen anyway, not if there was a cowboy on the telly. I said that he was my dad and that I wasn't asking for his permission, I just wanted to talk to him. Go on then, she said, but he won't listen. No I won't, then, I said, it was making too much of a thing of it. Oh go on, she said, talk to your dad...

... and so it went on...

Eventually, I went downstairs alone and found dad lying on the setee, half dozing, half watching Home and Away. I sat on the floor fussing the dog lying next to him. Funny how nervous you can get talking to your dad. Or just even thinking of talking to your dad.

I tried to find a way in whilst watching Home and Away with him, but the words wouldn't fall out of my mouth. I could hear mum upstairs, pottering away, and felt the pressure of time.

I took the plunge, finally, as the last credits for Home and Away rolled. Said something like; "Dad, did mum mention to you that we were thinking of adoption?" I carried on stroking doggies ear. All very casual. No need for a fuss.

Dad said he wasn't keen. I took a moment and then pushed on, talked a little about the adoption process. He asked if there was no way I could have my own children. I nearly broke at that. Having to say to your dad that you can't have children is... is hard. I shook my head. "The endometriosis is too bad," I said, "It's just too painful."

I talked some more about the adoption process, about what kind of child or children we thought would fit with us. He asked a few questions. He wanted to know if we could all love a child who wasn't our own as much as a child who was our blood. I said that I thought I could and I said that I thought he could too. And I meant it. I know that my dad would love my child no matter how it came into our lives. He said OK. He came and fussed doggy with me and and said to doggy, "We can find the love can't we? Yes, we can find the love"

I love my dad.

I've got a bad case of the Sunday Night Blues.

Work is good at the moment, but I have a lot of very hard cases on the go at the same time. Sad ones too, heavy on the heart. But whilst I deal with them, the smaller, less important cases build up and up. I have a skyscraper size pile of files in my in-tray. This weighs on my mind.

Heavy heart, heavy mind.

I've been pondering this since it occurred to me that the Gerard Depardiue guy at work might be looking at me because he finds me attractive, rather than because I am wearing one of my odd cardigans from Next.

Anyway, here's the body count since that moment.

In Paris. Man in restaurant with two other guys and a girl. I glanced his way and saw he was looking at me. Tres sexy. I looked away first. I think it tacky to be looking at other men when out to dinner with your husband, particularly as your husband is best looking and sexiest man in the city, but we may have caught each others eyes one more time, maybe twice.

At work. Feeling v stressed, looking for something in a cupbaord next to a window. Glance out of window. Man walking by looking in. Smiles. I have scowl on my face from stressful cupboard task. Man may have been offended that I didn't smile back! (he caught me by suprise, goddam it!)

All of these men (grand total of 3) are older men, so maybe that's my target range. I failed to impress at a recent meeting of pensioners I attended, though.

Once, there was a day when I felt pretty. On this day, I was out having a coffee with husband and his family in a stylish hotel lounge. I glanced up, a man, older man, with a young women, was looking for somewhere to sit. Quite acciddentally, we caught each others eye. For a moment, with not a scrap of self-cosnsciousness, we just looked at each other. He stood looking at me. I sat, surrounded by family, looking at him. He moved away and I sat there almost breathless at the power of that moment.

When we went to leave, sometime later, I wondered if he was still around. He was. He sat by the door, with a group of young people who I have always imagined were his grown-up children. He watched me walk across the floor. I could feel the weight of his stare and thought I might buckle. I knew I had to look at him before I left the room. I did. I was shocked to see how intensly he was watching me. It was a quick moment. Outside my husband said to me: "that man was staring at you".

I think I have been trying to recapture that experience all my life.

I'm not pregnant. I've been trying for a few months now, but I can tell by my body feeling like shit and my mood being dark that my period is imminent.

When I say trying, what I actually mean is that I came off the pill. Last month I even made an effort to have sex at the 'right time'. Or rather, husband did.

But it's not really trying. It's very unlikely I will ever get pregnant because I have very bad endometriosis which has shot my pelvic region to hell. I know that, he knows that. Not being pregnant is not a shock nor a disspointment, it's just what I am. Always. And probably forever.

So why bother? For the pure fact that I don't want to live into my 90s, end up lonely in a nursing home, smelling of cabbage, and find myself thinking, "God damn! Why didn't I even try to get pregnant?"

I was treated for the endometriosis for years, and it was fucking awful. I look back now and it's like my whole life got sucked into some huge, cold, dark hell-hole. I'm not in so much pain now, which is miracle and which means I can at least try to get pregnant, but, really, my heart's not in it because it's not going tpo happen. Not in this screwball body.

And this attitude is not even a defence mechanism anymore. I'm not secretly hoping I will fall pregnant and being all bravado about matters. I genuinely don't expect it to happen and I just need to prove it to myself so that I can move on.

But move on to what? We went to Paris recently. I love that city. I worship at the dirty shoes of that dirty city. I'm learning French. I have no children. I have no career. But maybe then I could end up with Paris because there is nothing to keep me in England. Not having children (or career!) becomes the advantage.

I was really geting into this last saturday, and looking up different parts of Paris and where I could afford to live and what I would do etc, then one hour later, as a complete surprise to myself, I was saying to husband; "Shall we adopt, then?". He said yes, of course, because I know that he wants to adopt a child (or two) and then we spent the whole weekend chatting away excitedly about that.

I mean seriously, what is going on with me?

I haven't mentioned the adoption thing since the weekend and neither has he. He's absolutely sure that it is what he wants to do, but then he just never does anything about it. I know that if I don't raise it again, he won't say anything. He is lazy. Truly. Very lazy. It is entirely possible that we could grow old without children because my husband can't be arsed to distract himself from the Playstation.

Here's a small tale.

When I started working where I do, I noticed a man. He stood out, I think, because he was so damn manly in that sort of Gerard Depardiue way - large, gruff, handsome in an ugly way. Men are rarely like that in real life.

Anyway, I work in a large complex and have only seen him a handful of times in the past year. Each time, I notice him, without, I think, obviously staring, or behaving in a way that would be embarrasing for a wise mature married woman of my 35 years. But the bastard always caught me looking!

Anyway, there was one particular occasion when he was giving someone a quiet yet intense dressing down up the corner of the staff canteen, which was a bizarre place to do such a thing, but I have to say it was somehow quite sexy. I averted my eyes as much as possible, glancing up at the scene perhaps only two or three times as I waited in line for my soggy semalina. Each time I did look up though, he looked back at me. I was bothered by this because I felt I had been found out for the nosey parker that I am, and was quite glad to be able to leave the canteen before he shouted over something like 'and what are you looking at?'

Since that event, many months have passed, and I'm not sure if I've seen him much. This past week however I was entering my office block and he was over the way, stood in a group, having a fag, and he seemed to be watching me. This gave me a thought - what if he's 'noticed' me too?

It may be a sign of my insecurity, self-doubt and/or lack of esteem when it comes to how I look, but all the times we've swapped eye contact over the past year, it has only just now occurred to me that perhaps all those times he's 'caught' me looking at him, I've actually caught him looking at me too!

That could be rubbish of course, but I've been thinking things over. You know, I'm not that bad to look at. I'm tall and slim (albeit a bit chunkier than usual at the mo!), I have a funky blonde haircut, I make an effort effort with my dress, and I keep my face pleasantly made up. It is not actually beyond the realms of possibility that one other male in the whole world apart from my husband, might think me attractive.

Whether he does or he doesn't, it doesn't really matter and I shall never get to know anyway. But, I have to say, it's given me something to smile about!

I have updates for you, dear reader.

Firstly, work. 'personal problem colleague' has gone off sick at last! In her place we have recruited a fabulous lady who hardly speaks and just gets on with stuff. Lots of stuff! She's great! I can't quite believe it's actually happened. Instead of driving to work dreading what state I will find 'personal problem colleague' in, I'm driving to work calmly contemplating the day ahead whilst singing along to tunes on Heart FM. A weight has been lifted.

Secondly, French. I'm struggling to figure out just why Wierd Guy has stirred up so much trouble in such a short space of time, but he certainly has. Only I've been paired with him and only i've suffered at his idiocy (although, there was one lesson that I missed so maybe he pissed others off then), but none of the girls like the guy at all.

At the end of one last class, I found myself part of a group of girls giggling down the corridors about his odd odd odd behaviour, then last class one of the women really turned on him. Halfway through the class J interupted the teacher and addressed Weird Guy directly. He'd been throwing screwed up bits of sweet wrappers at her! She told him to stop, that she didn't appreciate the distraction, and that it wasn't something she expected to happen in an adult learning class. She was really angry! The teacher smoothed things over, but for the rest of the class Weird Guy just sat there, his arms crossed, a look of mixed embarasment and amazement on his face.

I have to say, I hadn't seen him chucking anything at her, but that's because I sit near the whiteboard and deliberatly never look back towards where he sits. When I came to leave the class though, I saw the amount of screwed-up wrappers he'd been throwing at her on the floor! How bizzare! Why would you do something like that? I mean the guy must be in his fifties and he was chucking paper at a young women in her twenties! You see what I've been saying about weird?

As I left the class he was defending his actions to the teacher, saying that it was only a bit of fun and that we all come here for a laugh! Erm, no, we come here to learn French, actually. And I've paid, too, for that privilege.

At the beginning of the clss, my friend M greeted me in his usual way - with a hug and a kiss. M and I met at work and are friends. He is gay and so there's nothign controversial about us hanging out together and cheek kissing hello and goodbye. But Wierd Guy looked staggered (literally) and ONCE AGAIN asked us if we were married, pointing out ONCE AGAIN the ring on my finger. I keep telling him that I am married, but M is not, that M and I are friends. He obviously wants to know if we are having an affair however and you know what? I'm struggling to see how that would be any of his damn business.

As for the French, it's coming on a little at last. I've got times, and dates and weather and I'm getting to know my verbs. I'm coming to get to know job/professions, and we're soon to start on how to ask for food and drink in restaurants which I have done in reality and so have a head start on. All good.

Oh, and my weekly bit of escapism, the French class, where I can nestle in the soft fold of friendly acquintences and a chipper Frnech Madam as a teacher, has been spoiled.

A weird new guy was sat in my friend's seat the first class after Christmas. I sat in my seat and greeted him. Much to my surprise, he kept trying to speak French to me, so "j'mappelle X" instead of "my name is X" etc - even when I was clearly addressing him in English. Friend to my right turned to him and asked him outright "do you speak English?". Guess what? He replied "Qui!".

When Madam turned up, she did everything she could to move him onto another class, trying to make out that he knew too much French for out beginners class. But the guy wouldn't budge, insisting he was at the correct level, and just to be really clever about that, insisted in telling her in French.

Reader, I couldn't take to him. I was pissed with having to partner with him, instead of my friend who I hadn't seen since before Christmas, but that wasn't his fault really. It was however his fault that he kept asking me personal questions and using swear words. I didn't like it. And he kept trying to talk crap French to me, despite being English. Now reader, I'm a beginner, and I know I'm a beginner, but I don't go around making words up to cover my lack of knowledge.

Last class, I tried to make an effort with him, only for him to ask me if I'm pregnant. Reader, I am not. If you have to ask, idiot, don't ask, otherwise you've just called someone fat. And no one, including me, likes being called fat. Particularly in front of a whole roomful of people. And he was so embarrased by that that he later asked the tutor how do you ask someone in French whether they are pregnant. Seriously. What a jerk.

The Boss is more on the ball than I thought. He's set up a whole plan to allow 'personal problem colleague' to take time off sick, if she needs, or just continue being crap, if that's what she needs, and today he presented this plan to her.

Unfortunately, and surprisingly, 'personal problem colleague' has taken this very badly. This afternoon she was both angry that she wasn't going off sick and angry that she felt forced into going off sick. Her thought processes have completely broken and it's really awful having to deal with her; like watching an animal caught in a trap.

After she had left the office I offered myself to my Boss and the other colleague, just in case they wanted to talk over the disasterous events of the day. But as both of their heads were stuck so deep into sand that they'd hit rock, this was never going to happen. La La La la nothing bad going on here La La La.

I was left having to phone my mom, and then talk to my husband, to try and make sense of the day. Needless to say, I made sense of squat.

All I want is to go into work, do my job, and dream of trips to Paris. I do not want to go into work, deal with a crying colleague, and struggle not to say the wrong thing in case I trigger a nervous breakdown.

When my private life went belly up to the point where it was affecting my work, I gave up work. It cost me alot. It costs me still. But you've got to take the hit. But she won't bloody take the hit. I'm sorry that taking time off work sick might affect her mortgage in five years time, and I'm sorry that in ten years time she might not have quite the 'career' she would if she hadn't taken time out, and I appreciate that she 'wants something for herself', but dear Lord you cannot do your job as shit as she does, and spend most of the office hours in your own home, and expect the boss to turn a blind eye for a few years and continue paying your wage whilst you sink his business and see him and all the rest of us out of work.

GO OFF SICK!

Otherwise we are all going to have to take the hit, and that is not frigging fair!

Well, that'll teach me to begin a blog just before Christmas! I haven't had a moment free to come over here until now!

I have to pace myself through the festive season to get everything done without falling ill, and pretty much I managed. New Years Day, when it was offically all over, I was feeling pretty chuffed about things and was really looking forward to the year ahead with all the great stuff we've got planned for it.

Wouldn't you just know, it's all gone belly up already.

It's work. Or rather, the people at work. I was left in the office on my own for three days after Christmas because one colleague had booked the days off as holiday (without having the curtesy to mention it to me) and the other colleague decided to 'work from home'. Thanks guys!

Now the 'work from home' colleague has problems at home and is hardly coming into the office at all. As far as I can work out, these 'personal problems' involve her kids and have been going on for over two years. They really affect her ability to do her job, not just in terms of not never having done her full quota of hours a week (not since I started in this job a year ago anyway!), but also in that she just does her job crap. She can also exhausting to be around because she's so pained by what is going on that on occasion I have found myself being either her counsellor or verbal punchbag.

She knows she does this to me, and tries to stop herself, but she's in such a bad place that she's not always in control of herself.

She also knows that she's crap, our boss knows that she's crap, and she knows that our boss knows that she's crap. I know this because she told me. She seems both sorry that she's letting our boss down and also angry at him for picking her up on stuff she either hasn't done well or hasn't done at all.

Personally, I think he's pretty leniant with her about how crap she is, although I think he's handling things the wrong way. Instead of tackling her over the little things, he should sit her down, or go around her house one night (or afternoon as that's where she always is in the afternoon, certainly never in the office!) and discuss the whole frigging situation with her. Because the way I see it, you are either well enough for work or you are not. And she is not.

I don't mean to sound unsympathetic. Actually, yes I do. I really need this chance to let off steam about it because in real life I'm having to act sympathetically towards her all the time and it's exhausting. I find myself in all sorts of awkward situations were I have to cover for her.

Trouble is, I think now (looking back at things) that the boss hoped I'd take up the slack for her when I started in the job, and I think he's disapointed that I haven't done that. Which is really unfair, because I am very good at the job I am paid to do, and have also taken on added tasks such as helping with the website, dealing with larger issues not stricty within my remit, and dealing with press stuff too - none of which my predicessor went anywhere near! But what really gets me is that I actually do have to take up her slack - I just can't let him know about it, because that would get her into trouble! And if she finds out, I have to deal with her being all upset over the fact that she's crap and I'm having to do her job for her.

Upsets me too, truth be told!

I know I'm sounding like a complete wimp and I know that you are thinking that I should stand up for myself, but here's my position - I would love to have a frank chat with the boss about this - something that he frigging knows already is a problem - and make him deal with it, but my colleague has been having a very rough time for an extended period of time now and she trusts me. It took a long time to gain that trust, and I don't want to break it by going to the boss behind her back. Even though it's affecting my work and the way that the boss sees me.

Only way forward I can see, is to see how this week pans out and then initiate a frank conversation with my other colleague about matters. She's worked here longer than I have and we haven't talked about this difficult situation as we don't see each other much, and I think neither of us are keen to talk about her behind her back.

But something must be done. In my last job I was in a very similar position, and stood by a close colleague who had 'anxiety problems' which also made her crap at her job - with continuously negative consequences to my own work. I owe it to myself not to let that happen again.

Tuesday night is French class night. I always mean to practice more between lessons, but never seem to find much time. Which is very rubbish of me.

I'm not very good at it yet. As ever in life, I console myself that I am doing better than some. A handful of people have dropped out already (we only started in September), others turn up infrequently, and still others turn up but seem to be struggling.

I'm part of the small hardcore who always turn up and can pronounce things reasonably well. I'm pretty sure that everyone of us did French at school and that's the difference between us and the ones who seem to struggle. I assure you, dear reader, that I can sound very French, even when I haven't a clue what it is I am actually saying.

Why do it? Well, I stopped travelling for a while and my world got very small. Now my world has opened up a bit, I want to knock it open wider. I like the idea of maybe working in Europe, temporarily, some time before I retire. If that never happens, I like the idea of travelling in Europe alot more. This year we did Florence and the South of France. Next year I want Paris (again!), Amsterdam and Berlin. At least.

I'd like to do French for 3 to 5 years, and at some point start on Dutch or German. Probably German.

Looking back, I didn't pay much attention to languages at school because I had never been further than Wales, and it just didn't seem relevant. When I went to university, all the rich kids had lived and travelled all over, and seemed to speak at least one other language. Why should it be like that for them and not the rest of us? The world is there for everyone to explore.

What has spurred me on to take the language plunge this year though, is that I sometimes work helping asylum seekers and immigrants, and I feel humbled by these people. They leave their homes and families to make a life in a different country with a different language and way of life. Sometimes to escape, sometimes to get better prospects, always to make a better life. I find that incredible. Especially considering that some of the locals I work with think that two bus rides is too far to travel either to work or to drop their kids off at school.

Anyway, better go and have a sneaky-peak at my French notes so that I'm at least a little prepared for tonight's lesson!