Spring forward

You'd think,

what with my having a shitty week/fortnight/month and all,

whether awake or attempting to sleep,

that I'd be chuffed to have an hour of shittiness taken away.



I'm not. Not in the least am I happy with this clock changing thing.

I hate when people mess with time

(Well...

unless it's David Tennant)

he can mess with anything of mine that he likes.

I'd even pay.


It occurred to me last night that he has a similar appeal to the Hamster. Presses the same buttons in me. Touches the same place of instant attraction that connects my brain to my sex.

And that I could die a happy, smiling death whilst spit-roasted between them.



I really do need to get laid.

*sigh*

Vanishing point

I've been angsting.

Searching desperately for the hours alone that I need to dissect my past and check that I really have moved on and stopped allowing it to affect my present.

Digging through feelings, memories, empathies, personal truths, pre-conceived perceptions and private realities.

And then, tonight, quite suddenly;

I concluded that it's all a load of bollocks.

Wouldn't ya know, the power of pink provided my pressured mind with a prison key.

The main difference between Bing and me isn't that he thinks the answer is 42 and I think the answer depends. It is more subtle and more real and completely summed up by our reaction to the woman in the Vanish carpet cleaner advert.

Now, I admit that I like housework as a mind-numbing or mind-clearing exercise but she looks way too excited over a household cleaning product.

We agree that she needs something more in her life. But.

He thinks she needs to be shot.

I think she needs to be fucked.

And that's the main difference.

Bloggin' eck!

Since whinging en blog about my children being horrible they've deigned to give me the most peaceful, loving easter holiday I've had in a very long time.

Since whinging en blog about not getting laid enough... well, let's just say quality can beat quantity sometimes.

Since blogging my problem issues appears to manifest fast, even if only short-lived, solutions I feel it's worth mentioning that I'm a skint student/single parent and both the car tax and RAC want paying this month on top of all the usual bills and babygirl's birthday.

Work your magic on that one, blogfairy!

The bad news...

Is that my kids may well scupper my plans. Or be the death of me, whichever comes first.

Yep, all three of my beautiful, clever, fun, lovely, well-adjusted children have been kidnapped by gypsies and replaced by two hulking hooligans and a hellish hormonal harpy.

No 1 Son. Taking GCSEs. He's behind in coursework due to lazy first drafts and, not content with being one of the brightest and the undisputed King of the one-liner, suddenly felt the need to become the hardest kid in the school. To the extent that, under the guise of sticking up for a smaller kid, he head-butted a peer, necessitating an emergency dental appointment for peer and a three day temporary exclusion plus a day in the sin bin for the son I no longer recognise.

During our discussion about this I also brought up the fact that he was being a moody git at home whilst the rest of us (well, me, his dad and Bing anyway) were being utmostly respectful of his situation and asking nothing of him except whether he needed anything typing up. His answer was that he'd quite enjoyed being a bastard for a while. Ten begrudgingly given points for honesty and self-awareness...

He's taken some exams already but the bulk of them are yet to come. This situation isn't going away anytime soon.

I should probably order some valium.


Babyboy is taking his options. He's also taking a lot of unauthorised time away from school and a lot of nicotine into his not quite 14 year old lungs. Having allowed him the freedom to find his own style and personality I now wish I'd insisted on cutting that emo fringe into a nice tidy short back 'n' sides and forced him to show me his iPod daily so I could replace anything remotely resembling grunge with some nice christian rock.

As usual I had to play both good and bad cop so I said I wouldn't tell his dad about the smoking as long as he stopped immediately but he was still grounded indefinitely for truanting. Two days later, when I got a call to say a teacher had pulled him and two monosyllabic mates out of the town centre and into school at 11am, I put him on poop scoop duty - adding that if he bunked off again not only would the dog would be going on a curry diet but I'd be joining her on it and shitting in the garden every day.

He says he's been smoking for about a year which, in my mind, ties in with when he found about the court case.

I thought I'd got the kids feelings about that shit sorted out, even before my own. I was obviously wrong.

I should probably order some extra Venlafaxine.

Babygirl is taking the piss. She's fast approaching 12 and the arrival of her first period. Which is good, if coming on means she'll calm the fuck down. But not good in the meantime as she rides the hormonal rollercoaster of uncontrollable emotions and I worry my tits off in case she snaps and carries out one of her oft-screamed threats of running away and/or suicide or I snap and assist her in the process.

I'm now getting complaints from the school and other parents as her behaviour deteriorates outside the home as well as in it.

And I'm thinking of taking time to start up a small business?

I should probably order some viagra. I'm gonna get well and truly fucked.

First, the good news

All this studying is really leading somewhere and I'm actually quite pleased at what I can create these days. Things such as...

Sad flowers -

Happy flowers -

Fun flowers -





Fancypants flowers -

Balloons -

And even flowers made from balloons.

At this rate I'll be ready to set up a small business this summer. The bad news, however...

7 month glitch

Bing and I have become a married couple.

It's a culmination of our deep love and respect for each other. A mutual wish to show adoration every day in the little ways that matter in long term relationships.

Making a surprise cuppa for the one that's engrossed in a project with a deadline, giggling as we compete at scrabulous across the room, separate yet together, or at television qiuzzes sitting close enough to playfully slap the other when answers don't match. Sharing a secret smile as we laugh and muck around with the kids or a secret eye-roll as we lay boundaries down yet again during this trying time in their young lives.

Work, college, karate, three kids and a dog, each in their own difficult phases of growing up, extended family and ex partners all create stress that we seek to alleviate in the other. He gives the best massages - proper dig the elbows in stuff that makes the mass in my muscles melt. I give him the perfect buzz cut then spend ages trailing my fingers across his head and watching his brow furrows fall away even as he mentally plans yet another meeting or report. Even the annoying things we do get openly spoken about, laughed at then put where resentment can't set in. It's like we only live to make the other feel better and it's lovely.

Except... me being such a fussy bitch there just has to be an 'except'...

We only have sex when the kids aren't around which is, essentially, once a week. Hence my comparison to a married couple (Oh come on you didn't really think..? Oops. My bad)

I have an annual bonus cheque due soon. Once I've made my donation to One in four (see sidebar for full details) I'll be logging in to lovehoney to find a way to get a very quickie divorce from this situation.

Peace of my mind

For a bubbly, gregarious person, I've always needed a ridiculously large amount of time on my own to retain some semblance of sanity.

Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly a hermit. A true gemini, I absolutely love socialising, communicating, sharing written and spoken language, finding common bonds and understanding differences. People simply fascinate me, to the point where meeting new ones turns me into a baby who's just discovered their own hand with their eyes and connected the two.

I can pick up on the wants and needs of another soul almost immediately; say all the right things, induce all the right feelings to make things better - and all without even thinking about it. Gob opens, words pour out, friendships are cemented. Everyone loves Angie!

I used to see this as a gift. I now wish I'd checked the teeth of that particular horse.

People haven't changed, they're still fascinating and lovable and their 'flaws', as it were, only serve to illuminate that. It's not their fault that I find them emotionally exhausting, it's not that they mean to drain me of every mental resource I possess, I can't blame them for feeling that my recognising the gaps they need filling extends to my filling them.

Which means the buck stops with me.

I thought I'd stopped being a martyr when I cut ties with my mother and informed my siblings that I would no longer parent them, demoting myself to their equal and accepting that I was an emotional orphan. I look around me now and still see a long list of people that rely on me for some kind of emotional support and actually, this is worse.

This time, the situation is of my own making. The image I projected caused this - no accident of birth, no act of abuse, just me being a fussy, independent, look-how-strong-I-am bitch.

My college class consists of women aged 17-63. Every one of whom looks to me to be the funny one who says what needs to be said in a way that gets the point over yet leaves the room smiling. Class rep voting was 18-1. I was the 1.

I did half of my required work experience in a florist during the last holidays. It's an East-end, family run business of many years standing and excellent reputation so I pulled my cockney strings to ensure I got a place even though other students had been turned down. What I experienced taught me nothing about floristry and a lot about me. I know more about management than I gave myself credit for but, judging by the sad looks, warm hugs and 'don't you dare wait till you're next working to come and see us, Babs!', less about how to ration myself in the face of people that are in need of a lift.

I keep hearing myself saying that I'm all peopled out. I've fulfilled my teaching obligations - I'd never let my karate students down no matter what - and I've gone to college all but two days. (in my defence, one of them was when my car broke down so I had no choice in being absent). I've fitted work experience into the holidays and skipped my own karate training for weeks on end thinking that would help but, no.

I still feel all peopled out.

Anyone got a box I could hide in for a while? Preferably soundproof...

Smile!

Feeling down? A little blue? Look what Angie has for you!

Either print this out or hold your laptop in front of a mirror as you grin over the top.

A 992 i
T@WT biquT2
@ pnilim2
9m

Proper post coming soon, honest.