Almost a relief to go to work after the weekend, which says a lot.
Things I like about work:
I really need to get a new job if the only things I get satisfaction from could similarly be achieved by going to Starbucks for an hour.
No more messages from Cam. I wish I could stop thinking about him. It’s not even in a romantic way, it’s just this obsessive thought pattern repeating and repeating itself.
According to Google it’s because I’ve never had closure – that last time he left I didn’t know it was the last time, and so part of me hasn’t been able to finish things emotionally. It makes sense. But then he’s never likely to give me that chance, so perhaps I just need to make my own ending? Put myself vaguely in control for once?
Hormone app says that a dip in estrogen is likely to be chipping away at my confidence in my ‘appearance and brain skills’ – which sounds about right.
Estimated number of chicken nuggets cooked in lifetime so far – 7,280. Fantasies involving a personal chef – many.
In all the parenting books and articles I have ever read (not that many, to be honest) they talk a lot about sleep routines and tummy time and birth plans but not once have I seen anyone tackle what is possibly one of the most difficult things about parenting.
‘What’s for tea?’ asks Flo at about four o’clock.
Every frickin’ day. Every day for at least ten years someone has asked me that question and every time they ask it I want to bang my head against a wall and shout ‘I don’t know! I don’t want to decide any more!’
Whatever you make won’t be right, anyway, so why do we even bother? Why has someone not yet invented a chocolate button-shaped meal replacement that we can give to children three times a day that contains all the vitamins and minerals they need and never gets rejected because it’s ‘the wrong shape’ or ‘has sauce on it’ or is ‘touching the peas’.
‘How about you decide for a change?’ I want to say. ‘How about you think about it and then go to Sainsbury’s to buy it and then have to go to Tesco because Sainsbury’s don’t have the one thing that’s key to the meal, and then get home and realise you’ve forgotten a tin of tomatoes, so you have to make something different that no one likes?’
‘Chicken-and-sweetcorn nuggets, mashed potato and carrots,’ I say instead. Flo made a face like she was being sick.
‘What’s the matter with that?’ I ask.
‘Chicken-and-sweetcorn nuggets sound grim.’
‘They do not sound grim! Six of them equals one of your five a day, so the packet says.’
‘Can’t I have normal chicken nuggets and eat an apple later?’
‘No. Anyway, you like chicken nuggets and you like sweetcorn.’
‘Yeah, but not together. That’s like saying I like ice cream and I like mayonnaise, so I’d like mayonnaise flavour ice cream.’
‘It’s really not the same,’ I say, but she’s already lost interest and put her headphones back in.
(Question: I wonder how many hours/days of my life have been taken up by trying to think up things that counts as one of a child’s five a day?)
Awful day at work. Steve must have been reading some sort of motivational book on his cruise (he is telling everyone he has been on a ‘retreat’ but Maggie says she overheard his mother in the butcher’s talking about how much he’d enjoyed the P&O all-you-can-eat buffet), because he keeps swaggering around the office and saying things like ‘someday is not a day of the week’ and ‘don’t count the days, make the days count’.
What I really wanted to count was the number of times I could hit him with the stapler before he begged for mercy.
I spent five hours this afternoon trying to put together a convincing argument for why the Wolfson Foundation should give us money, but when I asked Steve if he had any evidence to support our ‘excellent interpretation of designated collections of national significance’ he just said ‘never allow a person to tell you no who doesn’t have the power to say yes’, which was unhelpful to say the least.
Girls at Ian’s tonight. I toyed with the idea of doing something wholesome like a Zumba class but I was too exhausted, so instead I lay on the sofa watching Netflix. Also, I have never done a Zumba class before and it sounds horrific.
I checked my status with the hormone app. Apparently I am likely to have ‘limited pep’ today and I should eat delicious foods including asparagus, cucumber and watermelon. I didn’t have any of these things so I went for Wispa Bites. I ate half the bag and then had to throw the rest of the bag to the other side of the room, banking on my limited pep to stop me retrieving them and eating any more.
(Question: surely I am not the only person to do this with snacks?)
I went into Chapter One today to see if they had any books about fundraising. Dylan was behind the counter, the piles of crime novels on the floor were gone and there was music playing quietly in the background.
He smiled when I came in. ‘Hello, stranger,’ he said. ‘How’re things in the world of female empowerment?’
‘Not great, to be honest,’ I said, ‘that’s why I’m here. I’m hoping to inspire myself. It looks great in here, though! Have you been tidying up?’
‘I’ve started,’ he said. ‘I’ve got plenty to do yet, but at least it feel less like a Channel 5 documentary on hoarding when you first walk in. Why do you need inspiring?’
I told him all about work and my new responsibilities and the fact that I am struggling to find time to really care about fossil workshops.
‘Sounds pretty harsh to expect you do take on all that extra work,’ he said. ‘Have you talked to your boss about it?’
‘I would,’ I said, ‘except my boss is a moron. I don’t think he really knows what he’s doing, plus he begrudges me having a family and getting the board to agree to me working non-standard hours. He pretty much said I can either do the fundraising or leave. It’s my choice, of course. Lucky me!’
‘He sounds like a dick,’ said Dylan.
‘He is a dick,’ I agreed, feeling better about it already. ‘Anyway, my work life is boring – how’s things here? Have you been putting that new upstairs room to good use?’
‘Not yet,’ admitted Dylan, ‘but if you have any ideas then let me know. For now I wouldn’t be looking to charge anyone – it would just be nice to get some more people coming through the shop.’
‘Don’t you need to make some money, though?’ I asked, my usual tactless self.
‘Well, ideally,’ he said, ‘long-term, but it’s not critical. Caitlin was pretty savvy about finances and very protective of the shop because it belonged to her parents, so she was well insured. No amount of money can compensate, of course, but it’s taken the pressure off turning a massive profit in the short-term at least. I don’t think I could have dealt with money worries on top of everything else.’
I said I’d keep my ear to the ground for him. It would be a shame if it just got filled back up with junk because the shop is so lovely and Dylan is such a sweetheart.
Had a flick through The Zen of Fundraising but couldn’t bring myself to buy anything. It felt like that would be admitting that this was what I was planned to do with my life for long enough to warrant buying a book about it.
I nearly bought a book about parenting teenage girls through the ‘seven transitions into adulthood’ but I’ve probably missed at least three of them already and I don’t especially want to be made aware of things I’ve already messed up and can’t do anything about. Instead, I used the book token I’ve had in my purse since Christmas to buy Flo the latest instalment in the vampire series she’s reading. I wrapped it up and put it under her pillow for when she got home with a little note saying ‘Don’t tell Jess.’ I know that it’s not easy being a teenager and having a loud, three-year-old sister.
Dates secured – 1 (goddess). Jaffa Cakes – 4 (celebrating).
I had a message from Robbie, the guy who was going away for a week! I’d fully expected not to hear from him ever again, although obviously I’d looked through his pictures and reread our messages at least once a day.
‘I’m back!’ he said. ‘I bet you thought I was giving you the brush-off didn’t you?’ he asked with a winky face.
‘Of course not,’ I said, lying. ‘I’m a catch, you’d be a fool to not take me out.’ He sent a smiley face back.
‘So how are you fixed for this week?’ he asked. ‘If you’re that much of a catch then I’d better not mess about, had I? I don’t want you getting snapped up by anyone else!’
I looked down at my red wine-stained pyjama bottoms and thought it unlikely that there was going to be a great deal of snapping going on any time soon, but I didn’t say this obviously.
‘How about Wednesday?’ I said.
‘Wednesday’s good,’ he said. ‘Do you like Thai food? There’s a lovely place near the beach, down at the far end of the promenade?’
Ha! And Lou said men weren’t looking for a woman who liked Thai food!
‘I love it,’ I said. ‘Shall I meet you there about eight?’
‘Perfect! I’m really looking forward to meeting you!’
And there I was, date number two in the bag and at a restaurant with an actual menu and everything. How sophisticated!