working on it

We have snow, but not as much as they keep telling us we're going to have. Which, I don't even like snow, but I can't help but feel cheated.

Work has been weird - Monday started by going in and finding out that one of the receptionists had been sacked abruptly late Friday, which was unsettling. It's sad that all the expressions of sympathy were empathic in nature, frather than genuinely upset that the particular person had gone. Sad too that the reactions went from "Gosh, really why?" to "who's covering her work?" very quickly. She was an odd and not overly pleasant person though, so I guess that's been reflected.

Anyway, after that, Tuesday there were men on the roof making ridiculous amounts of noise. Removing some form of structure, which resulted in Wednesday, walking into an office with caved in ceilings, debris and muck and much water everywhere. (Thankfully not my office space). Much dispute has arisen between contractors and management as to the extent and cause of damage. (contractors are positing the theory that it was a coincidental ceiling catastrophe and naught to do with their removing roof tiles and failing to secure any cover...)

Friday saw confirmation that, once again, they are moving staff around, shifting people's desks and locations and general disruption. Have yet to have any real explanation as to why. Of course, we all have so much free time that a few more days wasted packing up and relocating is not going to be a problem. \sarcasm.

Anyhoo.

On top of that it's been a crappy week, I've been speaking to Debs around the loss of her mother and it's heartbreaking just on a compassionate level, but of course, it's bringing far too much to the fore about Dad - and as a consequence I'm dreaming horribly (or about my late boss*, which is equally disturbing if not emotionally distressing) On a lighter note though, I did dream that my bathroom taps were possessed by an evil spirit so I attempted an exorcism by singing Amazing Grace at them...

I don't think Sam'n'Dean ought to try that anytime soon (although it would be amusing to watch, perhaps less so than the current eps!)

On the tv front - I'm watching; SPN, this week's episode was good, but emotionally bleak. H5O which was, well, rather ridiculous of course, but enjoyable nonetheless. Ripper Street - similarly ridiculous, but managing to seem believable while I watch and I really like it and I have Suits still to watch. Oh and Lewis! I don't like it in two halves and I don't like where it's going but I'm enjoying the journey, and there was a dramatic moment when Hathaway looked sooo young and vulnerable and oh.

And my tummy hurts still and I've been feeling bleak all week, but I bought myself a new duvet cover and I won £5 on a scratchcard and I'm trying t hold on to the bright side.

*did I mention that walking into work a couple of weeks back I clearly and distinctly heard his voice? There was just me in the corridor and two women in the staff room. Strange. He would have found the concept of haunting the place amusing though, so I'm not perturbed.

And then yesterday was the funeral for my boss. I'd been in a dilemma all week as to whether I should go or not. I felt I should, wanted to go, because I wanted to show my respect and also knew how important it felt for me to have lots of people at Dad's, but I was scared because I didn't know if I'd be able to do it.

I went in the end, but started getting so anxious and strung out in the car on the way - far too many memories of the last time I was there and was crying before I even got halfway there. I persevered though and brought myself under control. There were lots of people from work - a number of old faces too - the whole, lovely to see you but for such a horrible reason cliche.

I was doing okay until it came to walking in and seeing the same celebrant as for Dad, the same doors etc. It was awful and I felt guilty because I was crying for the wrong reasons. I wasn't there mourning David, I was remembering and reliving and wanting my Daddy.

I was glad I went though, because Probation aside, there were very few mourners (and so so wrong, but I couldn't stop myself thinking "There were so many more for Dad" and gaining comfort from that.)

The celebrant (SuperSteve!) was the same man and bits of his presentation were exactly the same, as in word for word, the same as for Dad - which threw me back screechingly to our ceremony and when the family walked in I had to fight so hard to stay in my seat and not leave.

But I did it. I left pretty much straight away - went and sat in my car and had a cry. Then spent the rest of the day in a foul, foul mood. But I did it and was proud of myself for that.

I had a flat tyre today - sitting at work, waiting for my late night reporters and anticipating my escape for the day. (First day back at work, every bit as bad as I expected, with the added joy of realising that I have a mahoosive report due in Wed, that I haven't even started yet. I will be working late tomorrow)

Anyway there I sat, wondering what work I could get done in the next 40 minutes - when a colleague popped up to break the news that my tyre was completely flat. Grand.

Thankfully, I remembered that I have *free* recovery as part of my bank account (hence the dubiousness of the word 'free', I pay a fee every month) and joy of joys flat tyres were covered - so I waited an hour or so for the chap to turn up and change my tyre for me. I now have a little bright orange thing on it and I have to try and get the punctured wheel repaired tomorrow. (the repair bit is fine, I have a guarantee on the tyres I bought and they should do it free of charge, I'm not so sure about whether they'll swap the tyres over again for me though. And while *in theory* I know how to change a tyre, I'm not sure how much I'd trust a wheel I fixed on!

Ah well, we'll see!

And it's ridiculous, but I feel... to say 'I dealt with it myself' is ridiculous when you realise that all I did was make a phonecall, but I'm a Daddy's girl through and through and what I would have done is call my Daddy and he'd have come and we'd have changed the tyre together and we'd have gotten wet and we'd have made a mess and niggled each other about how tight to screw things on and struggled with bolts and . So. part of me wants to feel proud that I coped with this ridiculously easy issue on my own, that I didn't panic or get upset and that I knew what to do and managed it.

The rest of me is so sad that I had to.

♥

The weekend started well. Thursday evening I saw my brother, then my Mum, then my friend. Friday I got a swanky new hoover thing and then I went to Norwich, met my friend, had a meal and saw Sister Act (the musical) which was fantastic and very funny). And Saturday I had my haircut, took my Mum out for afternoon tea and my Brother got married (at Gretna).

Then
I got a migraine.
I went to bed and mid way through the night I got night terrors/paralysis. Now I know that academically, night terrors is some sort of physical confusion and things not working as they should do. Academically. And that is how I strive to deal with them. Except - I know that some people view these as ghost activity. This was the first such night terror I've had since losing Dad - so, although I know it's physiological and although I know it's better to break free of them at the earliest opportunity, before the 'visitation and voices', I couldn't. just in case. Needless to say it wasn't, and I just ended up scared *and* disappointed.

So. Then Sunday was spent in a post migraine, residual headache fog.

Until Sunday bedtime, when my possibly an ulcer,possibly something else not really chest pains decided to start - and I spent the night writing in pain, reminding myself that it was nothing to do with my chest and being s***. Normally this whole fiasco lasts a couple of hours at most - last night's endured for 10 hours. Now there isn't a part of me that doesn't ache and I'm tired and weepy.

Not least 'cos Mum came down to look after me - and had to get a taxi to do so. I miss my Daddy so much.

whatho asked me questions. I answered them:

1. Have you ever had pets that aren't cats? Would you be interested in having non-catty pets now?
When I was much smaller about 5 I think, I had a hamster, I don't remember anything about it. Although I know it once escaped and ate my chocolate. When I was 11ish, a gnger kitten followed my brother home and I wanted to keep it but wasn't allowed. In consolation I was gven another hamster. Called Fred. This lasted 2 years. He died after my (other) brother dropped him.

We had rabbits, but that was in a wierd period when my Dad was 'Lets eat rabbits', (and I was all, lets not) so that didn't work too well. When he grew out of that (sometime after the first 'harvest', when he realised butchery wasn't all that nice) we had two left over rabbits. My brothers' pets really. They had a run in the garden and the run of the garden in the day time. That ended when my brother shut the run thinking they were in when they were out and his girlfriend's dog killed them.

My brothers then bought a new rabbit each, one died the day he bought it (evil pet shop) so he brought a guinea pig. The other rabbit killed that, and the next one he bought. (Evil rabbit). That rabbit then ruled the roost for years (fighting the neighbourhood cats if they dared enter the garden).

Then the cat era began. I wouldn't want any other pet.

That sounds like a slaughterfest of petdeath, but it was over my lifetime and condensed.

2. Did you enjoy school?
Liked Infant and Junior. Loathed Middle, loved High. Hated 6th form. Hated Uni.

3. What do think of Starsky's red long johns? I rather like them.
I think they are glorious.

4. Is there anywhere you'd rather live than your current home?
I'm very unadventurous really. Let me think. I liked living n Ealing (although I hated Uni) - I liked having access to everything, but not enough to live there again. There is a house on the cliff in my hometown that I pine for. It is huge, but it has round towers and square bow windows, and turrets and towers and little balconies and big ones, and attic rooms and ooh it looks so intriguing and it overlooks the sea and is near the wooded areas and there's be wildlife and fresh sea air and I woudl love to live there.

The reality is that I am likely to move in with my mother at some time in the nearish future and that's okay, cos I like that house too.

I'm not brave enough to consider moving overseas.

5. If you had to live one day over again, which would you pick?

A day out last year with my parents. I love figurative war memorials, and my Dad had found one in Bury St Edmonds. So he took us there to see it and so I could take photos. We went to Bury and had lunch, then did some shopping. We found the memorial and I treid to photograph it (not terribly succesfully, the sun was behind it) but we tried. We had an ice cream - and Dad was teasing the icecream serving woman (do they have a name?), we ate ice cream in the sun, then mooched some more, before setting off home.

On the way home we noticed all the fruit in the trees beside the roads (A-roads), so then Dad found a way to the back of the A-roads and we went scrumping! Mum tootled off blackberrying and Dad and I were clambering up slopes, shaking trees, dodging falling apples, getting stuck in thorn bushes and trying to climb trees. It was so funny, we were laughing our socks off, competing as to who could move the biggest tree and harvest the most apples. When we went back to find Mum she'd wandered off into prvate property and we had to snaffle her back before she got caught!

We carried on homewards and found a converted post office selling cream teas and Gladioli, so we had scones and tea and eventually arrived home clutching scrumped apples, blackberries and sorry looking Glads!

It was a marvellous day, spontaneous and mellow and kind of sums up my Dad, so yeah, that'll be good for me.

I went to see a link worker today, referred by my doctor 'cos I was such a wreck when I went to see him. To be fair to the link guy I took against him straight away as he greeted me so apologetically, but he didn't do himself any favours when he appeared unable to say any of the words linked to dead, died, death etc. I went off him further when he proceeded to advise me to think about Dad only once a day (I could sort of follow the logic behind this, if thinking about Dad made me unhappy - thinking about his loss upsets me, remembering him is a comfort.) He also told me that it was 'impossible to think/listen if one is speaking'. To 'prove' this he had me read from a text book whilst he spoke some nonsense at me. Literally nonsense - lines from nursery rhymes, football scores etc. When we'd finished he asked me to tell him what he'd said. I told him. He looked so crestfallen that I felt compelled to offer him fake consolation that I hadn't really remembered much of what I was reading if that helped at all...?!

Ah well, he gave me some telephone numbers to take away with me.

BUT! I've been making...

Look at my lovely bag..




Cable ultra thick wool, lining sewn on my new sewing machine and handles, um, recycled from an unwanted gift.

I've seen neither Bernard or Bruce since yesterday morning. They've both just vanished. I've been out calling them, but nothing. It's awful. It also seems very strange that two should disappear at once. They are the two that my neighbour just left here when she moved, so I've been wondering has she been and kidnapped them, or have they got stuck in her house (the landlord's been in doing work), or then I think has someone caught them to o horrible things to them. I want them to come home.

And I was looking today, and I daren't look over a wall and I knew that My Dad would have done, he would have gone in, peered into people's gardens and all sorts and I want him not to be gone and to be helping me.

And I realised that in a way it's as if I've lost both my parents, 'cos I'm so sad and I want someone to hug me and make me feel better, but I don't have my Daddy and I can't worry Mum with it all, and I don't want to do this anymore. I hate it and I feel so pathetic and just so damned sad.

Although not necessarily by me.

I went in - scurried in through the back door and straight into the loo to hide. (The condoms are still there!) But I did emerge and found my desk, sat with a friend instead of at my empty desk and was...protected...whilst she was there.

I had a meeting with my line manager - this went well until he mentioned that he'd booked in some meetings between us over the next 3 weeks to monitor my progress. (Miraculous in and of itself, getting supervision with this man is impossible). First meeting was fine, second was on a Thursday, which is a programmes day. "Ah," said I "I don't know if, Thursdays are... Prog..." and burst into tears. Which a) terrorised him, he doesn't do people skills and b) is a bit of a clue as to my feelings re programmes.

While he sat there like a rabbit in headlights, I found tissues and brought myself under control. "We're just focussing on OM work at the moment" he says, "Get you up to speed on that before anything else." "Good, cos I don't know what's happenning with Progr..." oh look, there are the tears again!

We kinda avoided that word after that, and I went and sat at my desk and started to read some of the 400 emails in my in box. I lasted three hours in total and then had to run away.

Thursday I went in again and met with the HR woman. We talked, about things in general, about 'How was Tuesday?' and so on. Then I tried to say the P word again, ("Have you spoken with Programmes?") and along came the tears...

But! Along came her answer: "Yes, and we're getting it sorted. You won't be going back there."

So, of course, I started crying more.

BUT BUT BUT. The decision was made for me. (Maybe something to do with my inability to say the word...)So, once I return fully I shall be full time OM again. I do feel bad about letting them down, they are very short staffed and L is about to go on maternity leave, so there wll be hardly anyone in the team, but oh my goodness. From a sanity point of view, I feel so much better.


*****

Thanks to my Daddy.

I heard today that both of his corneas were used in succesful operations to save the sight/give sight to two women. One aged 54 and one aged 58, in Dorset and Cornwall respectively.

If they are seeing the world through hs eyes they aren't doing too badly.