The Most Wonderful Time of the Year...?

This Christmas is a very odd one.  It's the first one without Dad.  It has crept up on me because I only went back to work after about four months on sick leave two weeks before, so hadn't been out and about noticing all the Christmas lights, decorations and build-up begin.

On Saturday, Mum, Big Sis, Bro-in-Law and I went to a Christmas sing-a-long concert at the Royal Albert Hall.  I was feeling decidedly unfestive when we arrived.  But it ended up being good fun and made me feel a little bit more Christmassy than I had been.  Mum had a voucher for dinner at the Hilton, so we went there afterwards and had a nice dinner in the Hawaiian-themed restaurant.  The fruit cocktails were lovely, I would  love to go there another time and have some of the rum ones!  After the meal, we went home and I threw some stuff into a bag so I could go back with Mum to hers.  That's when I found out that Big Sis and Bro-in-Law weren't going to Mum's for Christmas.

My family has never made a huge fuss over Christmas, but we've always at least had a gathering and lunch or dinner together.  It's become notably less and less important in recent years, which I think is a shame.  I really dislike how commercial Christmas has become and how irrelevant half of the things people worry about are.  But I like the fact that we have one day where everything stops, shops are closed and people are encouraged to get together, spend time in each other's company, watch old films and fun TV, have a nice meal as a family/group and buy each other gifts if they so wish to.  This year, Mum said that Big Sis and Bro-in-Law weren't obliged to come, partly because Big Sis has been spending time with Mum and they also went away to Lanzarote for a week a couple of weeks ago, and she thought she needed to spend some time with her husband!  That's the benefit of being legally bound to another.  Us singletons don't get a free pass to spend time alone, or with friends.

Basically, today has been a non-day, highlighted by the fact that everyone else is talking about their gatherings and Christmas dinners and presents and so on.  Today I have sat on the sofa since 11am, watching TV.  Mum has been sat in the armchair next to me doing the same.  I've intermittently been on my laptop, her on her iPad.  We haven't spoken all that much.  We don't often want to watch the same things, although I don't mind some of the things she puts on.  I felt like going upstairs to read or watch things online, but it felt a bit rude.  There were no presents, no special meal.  There are no Christmas decorations up.  Everything just feels empty and dead.  Now and then either or both of us would be crying, but not really acknowledging it in the other person.

I have retreated into my shell again, not talking to people because it's easier to hold things in and deal with them on my own than open up and not be understood.  Mum frequently makes comments about losing a spouse being much worse and more intense than losing a parent.  While I agree that is true to a degree, it feels like she has a monopoly on grief.  Every now and then she says the same things about how she feels, her own guilt, her own 'if onlys', etc.  I want to listen and reassure her, but it feels like a broken record.  I don't have enough emotional energy of my own to tell her it's OK.  Going over what we could have done differently doesn't help me in my own grieving process.  It's personal to her, as a wife, as a nurse, as my Dad's full-time carer for 18 months.  I want to remember the positive things about my Dad, the good memories I have.  Mum says she keeps having to remember how he was at the end, almost to reassure her that it was the right time for him to die, that he was unwell, weak and uncomfortable.  I had already accepted that my Dad was going to die.  His existence as a fraction of the human being he was made me feel uncomfortable and upset.  It still hurt so much when he died, but I can't deny the part of me that was relieved that his suffering and also my Mum's non-stop effort with caring had come to an end.  Part of my Mum's grief is occasionally going over what more she could have done, which is very specific to her.  I can't imagine dealing with the loss of someone who was your companion for 31 years.  But I know what it's like to lose my father of 30 years and it's painful.  Hypothetically, my Mum could find another companion.  But I can't find a new father.  I may find a new father figure, I may have a father-in-law some day, but the father who raised me, whose DNA makes up my own, whose character and influence moulded me into who I am today, that can't be replaced.

I feel like now my Dad has gone, I've lost an ally.  The family dynamic has changed.  My Mum and Big Sis have got more and more alike in recent years.  It's only now that Dad has passed away that I feel like a third wheel at times.  I liked similar things to my Dad.  I think I'm probably a bit more cynical, more realistic/negative, less religious, less strong in faith - all things my Dad was in some ways.  I frequently feel like I'm the odd one out in my family now.  It's something I never expected, probably because I never noticed it before, because Dad was always there to balance things out.

Today, I've felt more and more sad as the day has gone on.  It's the first time since immediately after my Dad died that I've really felt like crying and have done so.  I've felt pangs of jealousy at people who are having traditional Christmas family get-togethers.  I've felt resentful of people who are moaning about things they could probably be a little more grateful for.  I've felt isolated, lonely and misunderstood.  I've felt loss twice over - the loss of my Dad, and the loss of Samson, who I could always go to when I felt sad, even if I didn't know the reason.  I've felt lost and even more sad because finding that kind of understanding in a person is relatively uncommon.  Building up that sort of trust, where I'd feel comfortable enough to talk to someone when I feel low, takes time.  I fear I won't find it again.  Or more likely, that I won't trust enough again to open up sufficiently to develop that kind of relationship.  It just feels like no-one understands.  I have hardly any appetite at the moment.  I'm having one meal and a snack a day.  I have no money again and only got paid five days ago.  There just never seems to be an end to this perpetual cycle of sadness at the moment.

It feels like as I get older, birthdays and Christmas just highlight all my sadness even more.  I think this is part of why I want to settle down, find someone who is my partner for life, who is with me against the world, and start my own family.  So I can start my own traditions, have my own celebrations, do things in a way that will make me happy.  I'm fed up of being the reliable, go-to person for my family to rely on to go along with what they want, because I'm too emotionally retarded to be able to say no.  I'm fed up of being someone who people come to for advice, when they are feeling down or in need of reassurance, when they need someone to be there, but not being able to support me in my own times of sadness.  This is what happens when you get used to holding your own feelings back and putting on your 'strong' face for the world.  Even those closest to you can't tell the difference between the mask and your real face anymore.  You can't let the barriers down even when you want to.

To Be, Or Not To Be....a Bride?

It’s been a long time since I last wrote a proper blog.  As is always the case when I have long breaks in between writing, I have been feeling tired, a little uninspired and haven’t had the time.  But thankfully, work has slowed right down and I’ve had to find ways to fill my time while looking like I’m doing something productive – a perfect time to write.

At a loss of things to do, I realised I hadn’t checked my friend’s blog in a while and after doing so, discovered a new post by The Mrs, (ironically) entitled “I don’t want to be a bride”.  This is not news to me, as since we first became friends at 15 she has remained consistent in her reluctance to get married.  I probably wouldn’t even describe it as a reluctance, more a certainty that she didn’t really see herself taking that route in life.  Like most people, at some point I probably told her that her mind might change as she got older (as with her lack of desire to have children), not because getting married is what everyone should do, but more because who knows what they want at 15?  Ironically, I felt at 15 that I wanted to get married and have children some day and that desire hasn’t changed, so perhaps we know more about ourselves at a younger age than we like to admit.  No-one says “you’ll feel differently when you’re older,” if you’re a teenager saying you want to get married and have children in the future.  But if you express the opposite opinion, you get the opposite reaction.  People talk of that maternal yearning “kicking in,” like you get to a magic age and suddenly your principles change.  It hasn’t happened for The Mrs and she is happy with her choices.  If she ever did change her mind, I would support her.  It wouldn’t really matter to me, so long as she was happy.  What makes her question herself is the fact that other people/society/cultural conventions seem to be certain that she can’t be happy if she is not adhering to their lifestyle norms, despite the fact that a large proportion of couples nowadays don’t do that either.

So, what of me?  I emailed The Mrs to tell her I’d read her blog and really liked it.  Her reply was that I should now write a blog entitled ‘I want to be a bride’ in response to it!  This is something I’ve also been thinking a lot about lately.  I grew up being taught that marriage is an ideal to work towards and that a family unit with two parents is the best one in which to raise children.  I still believe this, but I know that our society and culture has changed so much that this no longer works for everybody and can also alienate those whose circumstances don’t fit into this template. Thankfully, my parents have stayed together, so I didn’t have any direct personal experience of the negative side of marriage while growing up.  I’ve always expected to get married, but I don’t think I had that same crazed desperation to do so as I’ve seen some girls have.  It’s a commitment I see as sacred and life-long and is not something I would enter into lightly.  Ideally, I certainly wouldn’t want to have children with someone to whom I wasn’t married.

To some extent, I’ve been philosophical about my marital status thus far.  I believe that if it’s going to happen, then it will happen, and I would want it to happen with the right person, not just for the sake of it.  Lately, however, I’ve found myself starting to feel a strong urge to settle down.  Part of this is because I still live with family, in the same place I grew up, and don’t have my own home.  I long for my own space, in which I am autonomous, my own haven where I can make my own decisions and not have to answer to anyone else.  Part of it is that I’ve had relationships, some that lasted a long time, and I don’t want to just date anymore.  I want the stability of being in a relationship with someone who is wholly committed to me, someone who wants to plan a future together.  It’s been a possibility in the past, but perhaps more one of theory than practice.  Those I’ve had significant relationships with in the past have expressed a desire to marry me, but when it came down to it, things fell apart.  The Ex probably still would marry me if I took him back (although I’m basing this on our last conversation months ago and may well have moved on by now – I hope), NY Guy frequently told me he could see himself marrying me and wanted to start a life together and has since married and started a life with someone else, so he clearly wanted those things, it just didn’t happen with me.  Things with BFTP seemed promising, but concluded with him going AWOL, so that says it all.  It’s almost as though them expressing this notion out loud jinxes any possibility of it actually happening.

Over the past month, I’ve been questioning where my relationship with Samson is going.  He’s a lovely person and we get on really well, but sometimes I feel he is holding back.  He can be emotionally reserved or perhaps inexperienced, took a lot of encouragement to admit he loved me (I’m still not entirely convinced), doesn’t talk about the future much and seems non-committal about what he wants, although he seems to want those things at some vague point in the future.  I’m not saying I want to get married immediately, but knowing it was heading in that direction would be reassuring.  It’s hard playing the game when the goalposts are constantly moving.  The Mrs and I were both brought up in religious homes, where marriage was to some extent the expectation.  Although her current boyfriend doesn’t have that sort of religious/cultural background and therefore doesn’t subscribe to that expectation, their relationship works because she doesn’t either.  I have caused problems for myself in that I am in a relationship where our expectations aren’t necessarily the same.

At the weekend, I went to my ‘home’ church for the first time in months.  I heard that a guy I knew from church when we were children and only got back into contact with in recent years, had recently got married.  A few years ago he had expressed an interest in me which I didn’t reciprocate because I was with NY Guy at the time.  Aside from that, I wasn't entirely sure we would be right for each other anyway, but I never serioualy considered finding out.  After hearing about his recentl nuptials I was surprised, as the last time I saw him I wasn’t aware of him even dating anyone.  But I noticed that mixed with the surprise was a palpable sense of disappointment, sadness and a slight touch of envy.  All I thought was, “That’s what I want.”  It was almost a shock to hear myself think that.  It’s the first time I’ve fully realised that this uncertainty, this disparity between what Samson and I are both ready for emotionally at this moment at time, is making me unhappy.  I’ve been trying so hard to convince myself that I’m fine with floating along, that I’ve suppressed the reality of wanting something that my current situation isn’t providing.  I could title this post the same as Claire’s, because I don’t want to be a bride.  I don’t want the ceremony without the meaning behind it.  I don’t just want a ring on my finger that is valuable to me only because of its material worth.  I want to be and have a partner, someone who is willing to dedicate their life to making me happy, because that’s what I’d do for them.  Someone who will pledge “for better or worse” and mean every single word.  Someone who wants to make a home, start a family and live their life with me.  And right now, I’m not sure that I do.

The Mrs may feel social pressure to conform, but she has got it right.  She knows what she wants, has never been afraid of expressing it, and is with someone who shares the same desire.  I wish I could say the same.

Saturday and (what I saw of) Sunday

On Saturday morning, I woke up, feeling in a fairly good mood.  Samson’s housemates were away and the place would have been quiet, if it weren’t for the very loud drilling and banging that was going on from the construction work in the park just outside.  Samson was looking all sleepy-cute and crazy-haired as he usually does first thing, and got up to make us tea and bring me some Sugar Puffs for breakfast (it’s been ages since I had some of those!)  I pulled on my tracksuit bottoms and a vest and joined him at the table in the living room for breakfast.  The end of the football season meant there was no football on, but I hadn’t banked on there being cricket and tennis on instead.  We caught a cookery slot on one of the morning shows, where Italian chef Gino D'Acampo did home-made beef burgers.  We decided they looked like a yummy option for lunch, so decided to get showered and dressed and then make a trip to the supermarket for the ingredients. 

We left an hour or so later, me passing the time while Samson was in the shower by watching the top 50 best selling singles by female singers of the year so far according to Viva.  The supermarket is only a 10-minute walk away and seeing as it was already after 2pm and we only had Sugar Puffs in our bellies, we stopped at the café in the supermarket foyer to get a roll each - chicken and bacon (him), cheese and salad (me) – a fruit salad, and a drink each – vanilla milkshake (him), lemon iced tea (me).  We had made a list, so knew what we were getting and were planning to stick to it (for the most part).  About 30 minutes, a trolley-load of food, £80 and an iron-cast griddle pan later, we were leaving, laden with shopping.  Since I contributed a disproportionate amount of cash to the transaction, my real contribution would be in the cooking (at least that was the idea). 

When we got back, we unpacked everything, refrigerated the bits we didn’t need for now, put the lemonade in the freezer to chill it quickly and then picked out the utensils we would need to make the burgers.  For the burgers, we used Aberdeen Angus beef mince.  The recipe contained breadcrumbs, garlic, parmesan, thyme, sun-dried tomatoes and an egg, as well as seasoning.  I chopped up the garlic and two kinds of tomatoes (sun-dried and sun blush, which are slightly less strong), added all the ingredients to a big bowl and mixed it all together with my hands.  Later on, while I was frying the first of the burgers (a tester) on the heavy griddle pan, Samson added some more herbs and then made up the rest of the patties.  He added some dried chilli flakes to the last two.  We toasted burger buns and Samson prepared the table with the salad he’d chosen, coleslaw and various condiments (mayonnaise, ketchup, Reggae Reggae ketchup [ketchup with a slightly spicy Caribbean kick] tomato and jalapeño relish), and a glass each of lemonade. 

We tucked in and were pleased to find that they tasted really good.  The flavours came through well and I was glad I hadn’t been shy with the garlic.  I only just finished mine, since the patties Samson made were quite big.  We were both rather full.  The England v. Switzerland game had started and once we had finished our food, we retired to the sofa to nurse our full bellies and keep track of the progress.  Switzerland scored twice in quick succession in the first half, much to our dismay.  We were both starting to feel very sleepy as the food coma set in and I got quite a fright when Samson shouted at a missed (certain) goal opportunity by Darren Bent.  After a while, I was lying against Samson’s chest and fell asleep, only realising when my leg involuntarily twitched rather violently and woke me up.  I snoozed for a while, then when the football ended in a rather dismal 2-2 draw, Samson decided to play a bit of L.A. Noire. 

I watched for a while and knew it was probably time I should be going home, as I was going out with MiniMe and her friends for a friend’s birthday that night.  I checked my phone for the time and realised I had a missed call from MiniMe on my phone.  It was about 7pm.  I called her back and she told me they were meeting in a pub nearby the club beforehand, at 8.30pm.  It takes about 40 minutes to get home from Samson’s.  Yikes!  I got my stuff together and Samson gave me a big kiss and hug goodbye, making me promise to text him when I got home from our night out.  I hopped on a bus to get to the station more quickly and was pleased to find there was a train in a couple of minutes.  By the time I would get home, it would be just before 8.30, so I texted MiniMe and asked her to let me know what time they would be heading to the club, as I was going to be late. 

When I got in, no-one was at home, which was probably just as well.  I rushed upstairs, grabbed the coral pink dress I had planned to wear from my wardrobe, rooted around for my gold heels, raided my chest of drawers for the skin-tone underwear I needed and then nearly fell off a stool while trying to raid the cupboard above my wardrobe for a vintage pink handbag that belonged to my Mum, that she’d bought in the  early 80s.  I laughed to myself at the thought that it may well be a bit older than most of the people I would be out with that night.  Outfit more or less sorted, I  cleaned my teeth and washed my face, then went crazy trying to make my skin look presentable.  I moisturised my face, covered my legs and arms with cocoa butter and then sprayed my hair with leave-in conditioner to give it a bit more bounce.  It was nearing 9pm.  I tied my hair loosely to keep it out of my face, then put on foundation and a bit of concealer/powder where needed.  I decided not to go with the gold eyeshadow I had originally planned in favour of dark brown eyeliner with flicks, then finished off with a tad more blusher than I intended and a dash of pink lipgloss. 

I threw my lipgloss, lipbalm, oyster, purse and keys into my bag with my phone and iPod (to get me into the mood on the way) into my bag.  I fitted the gel insoles into my shoes to cushion the balls of my feet (I know how hot high heels look, but I tend to go for low heels and comfort so I can dance longer), grabbed my blazer and ran downstairs.  Big Sis and Bro-in-Law had arrived back from a walk and I explained that I was going out but had forgotten to tell them.  Big Sis asked if I was coming home and I said that we would all be getting a cab back together as we live close to each other, but if anything changed and I stayed at Samson’s I would text her.  I got to the station within two minutes of the train.  It was 9.15pm.  One the way, I texted MiniMe to tell her that I was nearly there and she called back to tell me they were on their way too – I was going to get there before them and I had been worried I would be late!  I was glad I hadn’t broken something trying to get the train at 9pm. 

When I got to the station I stopped at a cash point to get out some money and realised with dismay and annoyance that I had left my credit card at home!  That was going to be my back-up, but without it I would only have £20 for the whole night.  I would probably need to save about £10 for the cab!  I got myself a can of Red Bull to drink while I was waiting and listened to some tunes.  Three men dressed as pirates stopped at the Burger King next to where I was standing and got questioned by some random teenagers.  Soon MiniMe arrived, already a little tipsy, and we walked together down to the tube, where her friend was waiting.  They had come in on the tube (I thought it would be the train) and had to get off to collect me.  We had to then get back on and go the one stop to where the pub was.  There we met the rest of the big group of friends (and I tried and failed to remember all their names), sang Happy Birthday to the (three!) birthday girls, ate chocolate cake and got encouraged to be loud by the Italian (?) bartender, who kept clapping and saying “Come on, is this a birthday or a funeral?!”

A friend of a friend bought MiniMe and I some Jagerbombs, which I felt bad at having only just met him, until he told me he was an investment banker and I reasoned he could probably afford it much more than I could.  Plus, I had to gratefully accept generosity where I could, as I was on a stupid budget due to my own forgetfulness.  At times, I felt a bit bad for the other customers, who were a small minority compared to our rather loud group, but I felt less bad when I saw an older man and two friends in the corner eating some of the chocolate birthday cake with their pints.  It was already 10.30pm so we made a move, saying goodbye to some of the gang who weren’t coming along with us to the club and then trying to get a crowd of rather drunk people to go in the right direction, which was a bit like herding cats.  It was all quite amusing.

When we got there, our cries to security of “We’re on the guest list!” were met with a reply of “So is everyone else,” along with directions to the back of the queue.  It was after 11pm, so it would no longer be free to get in, but luckily we only had to pay £5.  Once we got in, we checked our jackets into the cloakroom and then hit the dance floor.  We met up with other people, but it took me ages to realise that some of the party (including one of the birthday girls and the guy who bought us drinks) hadn’t been let in.  I found out later it was some stupid reason like them allegedly eating food in the queue, although I hadn’t seen any of that happen.  The music was good, mainly pop RnB and the rest, with lots of popular favourites and some old school magic (Informer by Snow, anyone?  Ace of Base’s All That She Wants?!  Mr. Loverman by Shabba!)

The whole group were really friendly and good fun, seeing as I only really knew one of them (MiniMe) and had only met the three friends who were with her one time before.  Some of them didn’t know some of the others in the group anyway, so I wasn’t a complete outsider.  The friend who had come with MiniMe to get me from the station had two male friends from uni coming, who showed up later.  They were really funny, both good dancers and lots of fun on the dance floor.  I had a giggle with another friend’s workmate when I caught him doing the bogle to an old tune (probably Shabba) and mirrored him while cracking up.  We had two sofas reserved for us in the corner where people took rest breaks, but I held out as long as possible, as once I sit down I start to notice I am tired, or that my feet hurt.  It was due to end at 3am, and at 2.40am, I decided to get our jackets from the cloak room just to avoid having to queue later on.  When I got back, I took my first rest on the sofa, but soon got dragged up again with MiniMe by one of the guys to dance, which we both did but, minus our shoes.  We danced barefoot for all of 5 minutes before a security guard politely told us to put our shoes back on (I’m guessing for ‘health and safety’ reasons – although not really our own health and safety, since the shoes were steadily becoming a liability).  Not long before 3am, some sort of fuse blew in the sound system and the music cut out.  The DJ looked annoyed, but dealt very well with the boos coming from the crowd.  With it being so close to the end anyway, the lights soon came on and we were gently ushered out.

We hadn’t ordered a cab in advance, so one of the girls ordered one on her phone and we stood waiting while getting steadily colder (me) and hungrier (MiniMe).  There was some mini drama going on with one of the larger group having gone off with a guy we had earlier seen her kissing, the main problem being that she had a friend with her who was meant to be staying at her place, who she had apparently ditched for the guy.  Another friend was going to put her up, but was rather annoyed at what had happened.  “She likes him, fine, I get it, but it’s different when you’ve got guests!”  I ended up perching on one of the Boris bikes lined up on the edge of the payment outside with one of the other girls.  She was striking up a conversation with two guys who were also waiting for cabs, and was making me laugh with her observations.  She seemed quite impressed when one of them said he owned a branch of Subway not too far from her area. 

It felt like we were waiting for ages and MiniMe was getting really hungry.  The girl who ordered the cab realised she had ordered a cab for 4 when in fact that there were 5 of us getting the cab, me being the addition to their usual 4 people.  We then realised that we might need room for 6, as one of the girls was putting up her friend at her place.  There was not much we could do except wait and see what kind of car arrived.  The two guys who were uni friends of the girls were also  trying to get home, which was near Gatwick so a cab to there would probably cost a bomb.  They hailed a few cabs trying to get a ride to Victoria station so they could get a train from there, but the drivers seemed sure that the station would still be closed and there would be no trains for at least an hour.  After several cabs coming and going (both ones they had hailed and ones that had been pre-ordered but couldn’t find their passengers), they were no closer to getting home and our cab eventually arrived.  Thankfully, it was a people carrier and would take 6 – although the girl who had disappeared had returned (partly I think due to stern phone calls from her friends), with the guy in tow, but would be giving her friend a place to sleep after all. 

They were still sorting things out, so we decided to get in the cab rather than wait in the cold.  I said goodbye to the two guys, giving them both hugs and saying it was nice to meet them.  We got in the car and the cab driver amused me with his chatty manner and calls for the rest of our group to hurry up before he got fined for stopping on a red route.  When we finally got moving, he asked us about our different ethnic backgrounds and then bonded over one of the Indian girls when he said he watched lots of Bollywood movies (I’m not sure where he was from, but he wasn’t Indian).  Meanwhile, another girl got a text from one of the guys we left behind, and announced that he said he had a good night and liked her friends, especially the ‘one in the pink’ [that would be me], that he thought he was in love and could we be friends?!  They were all laughing about it, her reassuring me that she had told him I have a boyfriend so we could be Facebook ‘friends’ and no more.  It was quite sweet really, he seemed a nice guy and a little shy, which is always endearing.  I laughed at the fact that I am about 5 years older than him and he probably didn’t realise.

A while later, we stopped halfway home to get two of our group a doner and chips from an all-night kebab shop.  MiniMe and I went out to get them, feeling cold and hobbling slightly due to our sore feet.  We returned to the cab and 10 minutes or so later we were making our first stop – my house.  The girls were saying I should come out with them more often, seeing as I lived so close to them and furthermore they now knew where I lived!  I thanked the girls for a great time and the driver for dropping me off, then hobbled home as quickly as possible.  It was already getting rather light.  When I got in, I tried to be as quiet as possible (Big Sis and Bro-in-Law are light sleepers), took off my shoes and headed to the kitchen to boil the kettle and make some tea.  I could hear a bit of movement upstairs and wondered how I had managed to wake someone up when I had barely made any noise.  A minute later, Big Sis appeared in the kitchen in a big hoodie, looking rather sleepy.  She had been awake for half an hour, so I didn’t feel so bad.  She has been waking up at odd hours lately.  We made some drinks, then I realised there was enough hot water to make instant noodles, so I did that too.  We went into the living room to chat for a bit while I ate my noodles and she told me about having a chat with Mum the other day.  Once my noodles were finished, I decided to stagger off to bed, while Big Sis was going to stay up for a bit to watch something online, seeing as she was wide awake and couldn’t sleep.  I took my tea upstairs, got into my PJs, climbed into bed and then watched a bit of Maury while drinking my tea (trash TV I know).  At about 5.30am the tiredness really kicked in, it was getting quite light and the birds were going a bit mental with their chirping outside.  I snuggled down, tired but happy and feel asleep.

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Sunday can mostly be summarised thus:

7.30am - wake up (after falling asleep only two hours ago).  Feel annoyingly awake, damn that Red Bull.  Try to go back to sleep and fail.

8.00am - get up, use the bathroom, get some tea and cereal and return to bed to watch TV.

9.30am - go back downstairs to get a drink, take some burgers out of the freezer to defrost for lunch.  Return to bed.  Watch TV, go online, feel really tired but can't sleep.

12.00pm - my knees are killing me and I'm hungry again.  Go back downstairs to get Doritos and dips.  Big Sis steals some while the plate is still on the kitchen counter.  Return upstairs.  Eat the chips in bed, while still watching TV.

1.00pm - put elastic bandage on both my knees.  They are aching terribly.  Either I'm too old for wearing heels and dancing, or my joints are always going to be a tad arthritic.

1.30pm - finally start to feel sleepy again, so settle down to sleep.

4.00pm - wake up to the sound of my next-door neighbour telling Bro-in-Law about something to do with Manchester Utd.  He is rather random.  Hear a car in the drive and Bro-in-Law get in, it must be his parents.  Check my phone and see Big Sis has texted me to let me know they are going food shopping and to text if I want anything.  The shops close early on Sundays, so I text to ask if they have already been.  They have.  They are now going for tea and cake at the in-laws.

4.30pm - I grill the now defrosted burgers and have them with bread, sliced tomatoes, pickles and Reggae Reggae ketchup.

5.00pm - Watch some CSI and other random stuff that's on, as well as the latest (exciting!) episode of The Mentalist.

9.00pm - go to bed for the night with my legs propped up on a pillow to ease my sore knees.

Friday, Friday, Gotta Get Down on Friday...

Last week was pretty good as things go.  It didn’t feel it at the time, but looking back I can’t really remember anything awful happening, so that’s a start, although my memory is not really my strong point, except when it comes to random ‘facts’, occasional notable instances from my past or hurtful things that have been said to me.  Yeah, not so helpful.  But in this case, sort of a good thing.

My weekend was both eventful and quiet in equal measures, but lots of fun.  On Friday evening, we went to the student bar on campus.  It was a warm, sunny evening, and that place has lots of outdoor seating as well as areas of grass to sit on (even though half of it is in shade by that time of day).  We were hoping to have a drink with Shoulders and Kitty, who were visiting from Australia, both old colleagues who were now married and living back in Australia (Kitty is from there originally and came here to work and travel for a couple of years.  Shoulders is English and moved there after she went back home to be with her).  Shoulders worked here for about 10 years and is quite a character with a wide circle of friends. 

We were expecting them at about 5-ish, but then heard he had been to the Isle of Wight to visit his Dad, and wasn’t going to make it until about 8.  I had been looking forward to seeing them both, but by the end of the day, I was starting to feel tired and not sure I was in the mood.  A group of us headed over and I started feeling better after we had been there a while, chatting with different people and seeing other old colleagues who used to work with us and knew Shoulders.  His last day at work had been about a week before he was due to leave the country.  That evening, we had gone out for leaving drinks, him armed with about £60 from his boss, with an order to get some shots in.  £60 might not sound like an overwhelming amount, but in a student bar with student prices, it’s rather lethal.

The night was really good fun, but had got quite messy.  After drinks at the more sedate student bar (which is where older students and staff members drink) and a hat with dangly corks and an inflatable kangaroo doing the rounds, we headed over to the real student bar, where the undergrads hang out, the glasses are plastic and there is a nightclub next door.  At that point there were only a few of us left – me and Samson (about 3 weeks into our relationship), Holmes, Miss T, Dee, Shoulders and a girl I didn’t know who used to work in our department before I did.  I blogged about the rest of the evening and the morning after at the time it happened.

Anyway, this bar was the scene of the crime, the last place on campus Shoulders had been before leaving.  The place where we subsequently learned he had head-butted a friend of a student and then punched him in the face.  Things had obviously worked out OK, in that he had still managed to leave the country and things with Kitty were fine.  It was just weird knowing that we were back here just over 16 months later and a lot of things had changed, but in many ways things were exactly the same.  When Shoulders arrived later on, he was without Kitty, who had planned to come with him when he was planning to come at about 5, but had to give it a miss at the later time as she had tickets to go to the theatre with a friend.  Samson told us about his dad, who was very unwell as a result of alcohol abuse and who was now living on the Isle of Wight in a care home.  They had been to visit him that day, which is why he had arrived later than planned.  It was really sad hearing about it and must have been a difficult experience for him, especially as he said his dad didn’t even know who he and his sister were when they first arrived.  I thought back to the evening he left and remember someone saying that he must have drunk so much more than usual, as he usually kept his drinking levels reasonable because when he drank a lot he ‘got like his dad’.

It sounded like he remembered hardly any of that night, which I suppose made me feel better in the sense that it made his out-of-character (for what I knew) behaviour make more sense.  He showed me his hand that he had broken when he punched the guy, which now had titanium in one part instead of bone.  He told us about what had happened, at least according to the other guy’s statement, which sounded like a complete misunderstanding.  He told us about having to go to court, that he had to pay compensation to the guy and that he go through immigration OK and didn’t get his hand operated on until he got to Oz.  Things sounded like they were going really well for him and Kitty and that he wasn’t missing too much of England other than his friends and family.

Samson was speaking to some old colleagues and I remained with Gannet and his long-time friend who I have heard him talk about but have never met.  It was fun having a chat to people I didn’t know so well and having a laugh, even though we ended up standing for the whole evening and my ankles started to kill me.  At one point, Shoulders asked me how things were going with Samson (since he played a large part in getting us together) and said that without wanting to get too soppy, it was really nice to see us together.  People always say that we are a good couple and although it is nice to hear, it always makes me think of how many people will hate me if we were ever to break up.  I caught up with some old workmates later on – the guy who had been my line manager in my first role here and a good friend of his who had also worked in our department (in a different section) and was on the interview panel with him when I interviewed for that job.  The have all remained in university admin, just at different institutions.  It was really good to catch up with them, not having seen either of them for at least a year.

Shoulders ended up heading off some time around 10pm, having had a long and tiring day.  He gave hugs to everyone and I told him that, without wanting to get too soppy, I was really glad he’d worked his magic to get me and Samson together, as he is a lovely guy.  Gannet left a bit later (or was it earlier) and I saw him stagger off, then randomly saw him again about 5 minutes later, coming to tell me he was leaving.  “We don’t have to hug it out,” he said when I went to give him a hug (he is over a foot taller than me), but I explained it by saying that the tip-toeing was helping me to stretch out my aching calves. (Samson found this particularly funny when I told him later, as he said Gannet had come back especially to say goodbye to me.)  We talked a little longer in the small group of us that remained, then Samson and I decided to make a move sometime just before 11pm.  We stopped off at Subway on the way home as we were both starving.  I had forgotten how good the steak and cheese sub is, and laughed when I recalled The Mrs reminding me how often I used to eat Subway, because I always used to have a six-inch in my bag whenever I saw her.

I went back to Samson’s and we talked for a while before crawling into bed, both feeling rather sleepy.  Samson kept asking if I had enjoyed myself, as he knew I had been feeling a little bit low and not in the mood to go out earlier on.  He was glad I had enjoyed myself and liked seeing me having a good time.  It had been a lot of fun catching up with so many people and having so many previous colleagues around – it felt like it could have been two years earlier, except I was feeling less shy than I did back then and not such an outsider. I guess that’s a small bit of progress.

A Lovely Lazy Sunday

I forgot to write about the good part of last weekend.  I met up with The Mrs in London for a spot of shopping, some lunch and The Hangover Part II.  We met at Marble Arch - a place that has a lot of memories for us - the area that she lived in when she first moved to London.  It’s weird being there sometimes, knowing that we used to walk those same streets almost 15 years ago and wondering where on earth all that time and our youthful joie de vivre disappeared to.  But it was great to see her, no matter what memories that place holds for us.  We met in Dorothy Perkins (a long-time favourite), where she picked up a cute blue summer dress.  Feeling brave, we ventured into Primark, which is where shop assistants go to die.  We looked around, The Mrs tried on some shoes and snapped up two pairs for £6.  That sort of price is the main reason we risked our safety to enter.

The shopping trip lasted longer than planned, as we popped into Superdrug, then walked up to Bond Street looking for a Lloyds cash machine (“I can see a green sign!  Oh no, that’s a pharmacy.”), which we eventually managed to find.  I did my monthly shop for toiletries in Boots and cringed when the next free till had a youngish male shop assistant, given that amongst my items was a bumper pack of facial bleach.  *Shame*  Claire later told me he was looking at me a little too much, which made it slightly more embarrassing. 

Shopping done and not too much money spent, we went to buy our cinema tickets and then headed to good ol’ KFC (I’ve probably had that a little too much lately), which was packed full of hungry people.  We had an hour to spare, so ate well, then ambled along to the cinema (via Sainsbury’s for a bag of Cadbury’s giant chocolate buttons for me).  The Hangover Part II was really good fun.  Samson had said he hoped it would be good for us because he had read mixed reviews about it and I had also read a couple of things criticising the fact that the format followed the first one too exactly.  I wasn’t too worried, as I liked the first one and wasn’t going to see it expecting a cinematic masterpiece.  We wanted a laugh and we got them.  

After the film, we walked to the station and caught the tube to Liverpool Street.  The Mrs wanted to get a few food goodies for the week from M&S, so we picked up some stuff, then I made a speed purchase of a notebook in Paperchase moments before it was due to close.  I don’t usually have my laptop at Samson’s, but sometimes feel like writing a blog, so decided it was a good excuse to get a new notebook.  And yes, I have actually used it, although ironically I did so at home, when I wanted to write, but had turned my laptop off and was feeling too tired to look at a screen.  We parted company not long after and I waited for some time at the bus stop, feeling restless and wanting to get to Samson’s.  I realised I had forgot to get a thing or two in Boots earlier, so popped back downstairs to get them.  When I got back to the stop, there was hardly anyone there, so a bus had clearly come and gone.  But I didn’t have to wait too long for another one. 

I got to Samson’s and spectated while he played L.A. Noire.  His flatmates were visiting their respective families instead of the camping trip they had all planned with some other friends, as Paxton ended up having to work the Saturday (and was Samson’s ride).  He was feeling a bit sorry for himself because he didn’t get to go and showed me the gear he had bought especially for the trip.   Later I made us dinner of cheesy fishcakes, roast potatoes, rice and sweetcorn and we chilled, watching some Quantum Leap and then the first part of a documentary on rock band Queen.  All in all, it had been a lovely day.

The Weekend...almost

Tonight will be spent with Samson, most likely chilling out, maybe watching a film or some Quantum Leap (our viewing rate has slowed somewhat, partly of late to me ‘losing’ the disc we were on, only to find it a few weeks later in my actual DVD player). I really look forward to weekends now. I suppose I always did, mostly for the fact that I didn’t have to go to work, but I do even more so now, knowing I can spend time with Samson. I feel at home with him and really enjoy his company.

I have a therapy session tomorrow which I can’t afford to pay for. It’s a good job I brought up the topic of my problems with money management (that apparently signify a deeper-rooted problem that probably stems from a particular situation or experience) in my last session, because maybe this means that Mary will be more sympathetic about my lack of sufficient funds to pay for her services. Samson has been great and has lent me the money on a few occasions, even when I’ve said I would just cancel. He reminds me that it’s important I do go and is happy to help. He will probably be willing to do the same for tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ve even paid him back for the last two I went to as yet, so I don’t feel good borrowing more.

In the afternoon I will be heading home to drop off my stuff (and undoubtedly pick up more stuff), meet Big Sis and then head off with her to see the ‘rents – the first time I will have done so since the a week or so into January. We are going to stay the night on Saturday, then take Mum out for a treat lunch on Sunday (again something which I can’t afford). I’m actually really looking forward to seeing them and spending time with them.

It's nearly hometime now and therefore officially the start of the weekend. We just had a fire alarm and had to evacuate the building. That really kills the little motivation I had left, if any, to come back to the office, especially at 5pm, but at least I will soon be out of here. Annoyingly, I seem to now be in a slightly grumpy mood and that's never a good way to be on a Friday night. I'd like to blame my depression, but to be honest, I think I'm just a moody bitch. Temporal, like the weather. Come on, 5.30!