I resigned ….. because I am sucky

140818_Resign

I really enjoy recruitment.  I love finding out about people, and I love finding out what companies do and how they function.  Though not a great people person, I like the mix of people and administration that is recruitment.

I unfortunately am unable to sell.  Cold calling is more painful to me than that time I lost a tampon and had to go to my male GP to retrieve it.

I would rather do that every day than pick up a phone and try to convince someone to use my services.

I misjudged how uncomfortable cold calling would be, and how much of a loathing I would feel for it.

I would spend hours staring at the phone.  Just staring at it.  I was physically unable to pick it up and call someone to try to convince them to use me as a recruiter.

I tried various techniques.  I contacted a trainer who had worked as a recruiter, and asked her to do a one on one training programme with me. I figured, this was a skill I could learn.  Right?

It appears no.  I am not comfortable in social situations with new people.  I have severe issues when it comes to trying to sell anyone anything.

Which I may possibly overcome if it is a small part of my day.

Starting a new desk, with no history, unfortunately means that selling is a large part of my day.  Every day was painful and made me feel physically sick.

I was forcing myself to do something I hated doing, that I could not do, that used to make me feel sick — I would freeze and do nothing, because I was so scared.

This had gone on for a while, and it was not getting better.  My boss and I had spoken about “my alarming inability to make cold calls” and time was not making it any better.

I believed in the beginning I could do it.  I was wrong.  I can’t.

I am fantastic as an account manager – I am great with clients. I am efficient, organised, and anal retentive about detail.  Great account manager material.

Shitty/Hopeless/really should be doing something else sales person.

My boss spoke to me and said that he would need to give me a “poor performance letter” which I understood.  I got this letter.

There was nothing in it that was not true, or inaccurate.  It was however quite alarming to see it in black and white on 80grm bond.

He set some targets and gave me four more months to get myself organised.

I was stunned he was giving me another four months.  I had been sitting at a desk that was not generating any money, and was costing him money each month.  If I was him, I would have escorted me to the door with a thank you note, and a swift kick.

When I read the letter again later in the day — after another painful day — I realised how much this “failing” was affecting me.  How much it was starting to erode my “sense of accomplishment” in all other things.

I had been making cold calls – I was forcing myself to make 10 each day come hell or high water.  I reflected on the day and how much I was hating it, and that tomorrow I would get to do it all over again.  And I was not going to hate it any less.

 

I thought about the situation and what the options were.

1.  Continue forcing myself to do something that I was physically unable to do.  I had a physical reaction to it and hated each day.

2.  Stop forcing myself to do something that I was not good at, hated, and was starting to flow over into other areas of my life and find something else to do.

 

I chose option two.

I received the letter on Monday morning.  By Monday evening I knew I needed to resign.  I did not want to do something rash.  I cannot afford to be unemployed.

I do not have a mystery benefactor who is funding my lavish lifestyle of white break and peanut butter.

Even with the fear of facing financial uncertainty could not deter me from the path of what was so obvious.  Necessary.  Vital.

I sat with it for a few days. By Wednesday afternoon I went along to my boss and explained I was going to resign.  He was pleasant and supportive.

I stayed for two weeks — but here was the twist.  I was given a project which required a lot of calling and sourcing people.  I was on the phone pretty much all day – but that did not scare me.  I wasn’t having to sell, and I actually really enjoyed the last two weeks, because this I could do, this I enjoyed.

My last day was Friday before last — I have opted to return to my little recruitment business which I started nearly four years ago, and which has been running really well.

I continued to run whilst I returned back to the formal recruitment position, and for that I am very thankful.

I have some ideas about how I am going to grow it and make it have some other revenue streams.

I am so glad to be back doing something that I enjoy, where I am not consumed by anxiety and fear of impending poor performance, and where every day hangs over me like a guillotine.

I know I made the right decision, but as with all things I am nervous, scared and panicky about how this is going to pan out.  And whether I can get and keep my shit together to do it.

 

stress-at-work

Nipple hair ….. no, that’s not right …..

1304_wordchallenge

I am part of a “Word Blog Challenge” – a few bloggers got together with the careful coaxing from Natasha over at the “dear me” blog.

We all threw names at fish, someone put their hand in, chose a fish – with a word on it and we had to were asked politely to blog about the word.

1304_words

There is no prize money.  There is very little in the way of fame and fortune.  Just chicks sitting around blogging.

Someone picks a word and we all blog about it.  I misunderstood. I thought we all give a word, and then we play “swap swap” so everyone ends up with a different word.  But I did not make up the rules, and I just want to play along, so here I am with my fish word.

The word chosen was/is “first”

First prize.

First kiss.

First period.

First time you drove a car.

First time you realised that Murder She Wrote is running out of cast members.  Someone in Cabot Cove is going to die. One person per episode.  There are like 15 people living in Cabot Cove.  If you woke up to find that you live there, then well, you are fucked.

First time someone called you “tannie.”

First time someone called you “Mommy.”

First time you cried because he was not worth it.

First time you cried because he was worth it.

First time someone gave up their seat to you because they thought you were pregnant.  And you were not.

First time you went to the clinic and hoped you were not pregnant.  He was fine to have sex with, but really your entire life joined to him?  Yeh, fuck that!

First time you pee’d on a stick and hoped you were pregnant.

First time you were.

First heartbeat.

First born.

First.

First ….. first …. sounds like thirst … which makes me think of wine

First …. dirst … prist …. kirst?  Okay, I’ve got nothing.

First day.  First job.

I started working at a company that was small.  Offices were small – huge if it was your first job.

The toilet was one door off the main office.

I do not use toilets in places I do not know.  I rather hold it in.

I cannot poo in a strange toilet.  If I think that someone might hear or smell me.

I used to be in boarding school, and I would not poo from Sunday when I was dropped off until Friday afternoon when I was collected.  By Friday lunchtime I was so full of shit, literally that I was too scared to laugh in case I poo’d in my knickers.

First job.  First day.  I was so nervous.  I was sitting there trying to work out how to switch the computer on.  I was hired as a designer, which was a bit of an over reach, as I did not know how the put the computer on.

I sat there.  My tummy started to make a squishy sort of sound.  I realised that I really needed the bathroom.

I sat there and started to sweat, as I knew this was not one of those instances where I could hold it in.

I shot to the toilet  – again toilet door is the door right off the offices.  My bowels lost control,and everything including the 3 carrots I ate last Thursday shot out my arse.

The smell was peel-the-paint-off-the-walls bad.

I flushed, I flushed and then I stood there and died from embarrassment as I knew I had to walk back in the office, with the fresh bouquet of freshly-shat-yourself lingering around me.

I went back to my desk. Mortified.

An office colleague got up, went to the bathroom, opened the door, stood there for two ticks, closed the door, thought better of it and headed back to his desk.

I died!  I was so embarrassed.  I knew that I might end up having to take another run at the loo as I clearly had a tummy bug.

I stood up, packed my bag, explained I needed to leave.  Quickly. I sprinted across Cape Town – we lived in St. George’s Mall and I worked in Commercial Street which is on the other end of town.

I am sure no one else remembers my first giant smelly poo at my first job on my first day.

I do.  In graphic olfactory detail.

Funny thing those firsts, they stick with you for a long time.

————————-

Bloggers who are taking part in the Word Blog Challenge and who have published posts are:

Natasha Marais

dear me,

http://noahrhydartash.blogspot.com/2013/05/what-do-you-think-of-when-you-hear-word.html

Keri Bainborough

Midlandsmusings

http://midlandsmusings.com/2013/05/02/the-blogger-challenge/

Che Dyer

indieBerries

http://indieberries.blogspot.com/2013/05/blog-game-first.html

If you blogged and I missed your post, let me know.

Fun at Department of Labour …. we are having it!

I really wish I was excited.  Even mildly.  Afraid not.

I really wish that the day was not going to be filled with a 3 hour queue, people sitting too close to me, breathing on me, probably not wearing Chanel No. 5!

The reality is that I was retrenched in April and at a certain point one must accept the inevitable.

I, and the other masses of hopeful South Africans, will be toddling along to the Department of Labour.  Tomorrow.  Deep, very deep sigh.

I have cleared my schedule and plan to plant my arse on a very long wooden bench with other unemployed South Africans, desperately clutching my UI2.8, UI19 and two of my last payslips and hoping that the civil servant behind the counter likes the look of my jib, and cuts me a cheque and sends me on my way.

That is sort of how I am hoping it will go.  I have accepted the 3 – 5 hour wait in a queue with people sitting WAY too close to me.

The reality is that I will get to the front of the longest queue EVER and be informed that some form is not filled in correctly, or I am missing something – though I have gone through the site meticulously and consulted a UIF Guide.

No matter what happens, and how long I have waited, and how long I have held back a stream of hot urine (because I will not be using a public toilet) I will smile, nod and say thank you!  Because one can throw a hissy fit and really it is like pissing into a strong wind — it will all just blow back in your face.  So really no point.

I really do not hold much hope for tomorrow, but when you read this I will be in a fun time queue at the Department of Labour!

If there is a DOL deity of god you can mutter a word of hope to, please, for the love of all things sane, do!

Catch you on the flip side.

Sex On Fire …. and other household mishaps

I am working from home this week, for a variety of reasons.

My work, laptop, diary, workbooks and so on are spread over the dining room table, and it is all quite jolly.  I get a fair bit done, as all the kids are at school, so I get to put my head down and just get on with it. No distractions.  Unlimited supply of hot tea and day old bread.  What’s not to love?

Sat down this morning, got started.  Made some toast and some tea.

Was just thinking about how I had this great organisation going on my table, and at that point, I hit my tea mug over with my arm.

Hot tea running all over the desk and over everything I had so neatly organised.

My immediate reaction was to stuff the entire piece of toast in the general direction of my mouth, which would free up my hands to grab my laptop and lift it high away from the spillage.

I did all of this in a split second.  Comparing my split-second and catlike reflexes to a poised athlete – with a large piece of chocolate toast jammed into their mouth.

What I did not allow for was the rush of hot tea <freshly made> pouring into my lap.

For just a moment I started singing Kings of Leon – Sex On Fire …. I really have no idea what the lyrics of that song mean, but seriously my lady bits were on fire, so it made sense to sign the song.

 

 

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Some days are for living. Others are for getting through.

I hope everyone had a good holiday season with friends and family, and where ever you were when the clock changed to 2011.

I trust it was in a happy place, or at the very least spent with a reasonably good bottle of wine in what would pass as your moderately pleasant place.

I have been neglecting my blog duties in the last month, and for that I am slightly embarrased.

I have found that for the first time in a very long time that I just have not felt like blogging – which is odd, as I really do enjoy this blogging malarkey.

I do think November and December have offered me one too many challenges and I have struggled to bounce back from.

My natural tendency is to throw myself to the floor and weep: “why we, why me?” And this month it seemed allowed so many opportunities to do just that.

I feel like one of those blow-up-balloon-figurines (kids kind versus sexual ones you purchase from Adult World), with water in the base that children get so they can punch the crap out of them.

The figure bounces back and bounces back, until it eventually springs a leak and the water starts to get sort of yucky.  Eventually the blow up figurine is thrown into the bag of the wendy house and left there to gather dust while the air sort of “eep-eeps” out of it.

Not a bad simile for how I have felt these last two months.

I have felt “blech” and a bit too drained to do anything other than wallow in my self-pity.

The entire work situation has been on the forefront of my mind, and I also did not want to ‘emotionally puke’ about it here, so though it is all I wanted to talk about – as it was all I was thinking about – I also did not want to initiate a blow-by-blow update here.

But here is a basic update on where I am right now:-

My retrenchment: That is still in the process, but the process does appear to be coming to it’s end.

My company did revert back with a revised offer to look at a reduced salary position.

However this was after telling me in a meeting that I was retrenched, and then announcing to the entire sales/estimating and others that I was retrenched before the issue had actually been finalised.

So yes in terms of procedure, that did suck a bit, but let’s not hold grudges, sometimes the best laid plans do not go to plan.

Since then I counter-offered and suggested if they were going to cut my salary then I would like my working hours should be cut as well.

That went down like a lead balloon, but hey, if you don’t ask you don’t get.  And in this case, even if you do ask, you still do not get.

Then they counter-offered, and I went “mmm, that does not sound right” and at a certain point I realized “I am done” – it is actually time to go now.

I was (am) really disappointment, and though everyone said “don’t take it personally” of course I took it personally.  This retrenchment personally affected ME personally.

As things stand now, I have asked to depart at the company’s soonest convenience.  But that being said, I do not wish to burn my bridges there because all things were good prior to the ‘pack your bags and fek off” meeting, and have had an MD who I will think fondly of for all time, as he is and has been a really good guy to me.

I am in the process  of doing  a hand-over with the person who will be taking over my responsibilities.  I plan to leave my place-of-employment this Friday.

The humour is I am doing a hand over for a person I shortlisted when we were interviewing to expand the department.  So in theory I hired my replacement without even being aware of it – fabulous!

The issue right now is that I just don’t want to be at my company any more.  I do feel slighted.  I do feel rejected. And I do feel hurt about the entire process.  I feel a bit like the ugly step-cousin who has gate crashed the Xmas party.

We can argue for hours about how I need to “wear my big girl pant” and take it on the chin.  But you know, fek that! I actually don’t have to.  And that is the bonus of wearing “big girl panties” I can decide how this is going to play out and I can decide how I feel about something.

I just want to say that this process hit me for a total six.

There I was sitting happily working along.  Obviously having the occasional little bitch and whine about work, but I had no inclination of going anywhere, and though everything wasn’t “coming up roses” I was fine to just keep on keeping on.

Then the retrenchment meeting came, and I was left reeling.

Then there were the negotiation and I realized; what exactly are we negotiating about?  Me staying at a company that chose not to keep me?

Thanks, but I can find the door myself.

Kennith has been a good egg during this entire process.  He showed me support and solutions when I just saw black emptiness.  So he gets another star on the good egg chart – that boy is nearly on his way to owning a BMX!

The issue with my mom: That has not been totally resolved however we have since been in contact via sms.  Kennith, myself and kids stopped by to see my mom and my stepfather on the 27th December.

It was good.  I hope that we can move forward and things can revert back to what-passes-for-normal-in-most-families.  But I do hope that things get better/go back to what there were/not be as awkward as they are now.

I realized how long it had been for them since they last saw Isabelle and it made me sad that they had already missed out on so much of her development.  My mom and my stepfather hold such a close relationship with Connor and Georgia, and I would really hate for our issues to cloud their relationship with Isabelle and Georgia and Connor.

Depression: November and December have reduced to me to a pitiful mess of sobbing and anxiety. I have chewed the inside of my cheeks something hellish, and have been totally self-absorbed in my own anxiety and stress.

I wish I lost weight when stressed.

Unfortunately I tend to drink more than would be considered healthy, and then snack without being aware of what is being thrown in to my mouth.  I also tend to just want to sleep and sleep and …. sleep … and when I am not sleeping I am trying to work out when I can be sleeping again.

Kennith has been great and given me the space to wallow and not tried to push too much on me.

I just want to point out here that he made the entire Xmas lunch himself.  I sort of slothed through, set the table and then ate.  I did not peel one potato or stuff one chicken – it was bliss!

My therapist did suggest that I was in a depressive episode and that I should consider medication to just help me stabilize the situation a bit better.

But with all good therapists she proceeded to say something to me, which was the right thing at the right time, and it felt like a cloud had shifted off my horizon.  So with her guidance, and Kennith’s support I really feel much better and have decided to skip the need for meds right now.

Kids and School Holidays: Not my best time.  I get really stressed when it is time for us and the kids to float around our house and I do look around in fear that something is going to go horribly wrong.

I often worry that there is a bit of Andrea Yates in me, the part without the obsessive religious fervour.

But it was not so bad this year.

I also realized the reason it was not so bad this year was because our maid/nanny/right hand lady Pepe opted not to take her annual leave over Xmas/New Year.  I can’t tell you how divine it has been having her about while while we and our three kids wreck havoc!

She will take leave in March.  I understand that all that is happening is that the pain is being delayed.  Of course now I stare up at the ceiling at night wondering what I am going to do in March!

Over December we spent a lot of time around the pool and the kids have found jumping in the pool and who can make the biggest splash the easiest way to burn off energy.

All this whilst I sit under the gazebo and sip my wine, and try to smile affectionately as someone screams “Mommy, look at me, look at me!”.

The joy of giving: Connor received a Nintendo DS for his birthday (I am sure you wonder how exactly that is good for me, but wait, it actually is very good).

I am not a big game-fan, but this thing has made me clap my hands in glee quite a few times.  Instead of having Connor walking around me whining for me to entertain him, Connor has gone on to develop a close and what I hope is a lasting relationship with Luigi and Mario, as well as someone called Princess Peach (Super Mario Brothers and Mario Cart DS).

We can have another post about the evils of putting kids in front of the television or a computer game, so that the moms like me can lie on the couch and read.  But for all it’s evils, damn, I am a fan of the little game consol!

Christmas Day: Always get a bit stressed about this and always tend to spend too much time with my hand up a chicken’s bum.

We had Kennith’s mom over for lunch and it really was pleasant and just so low-stress it was divine.

New Years: We unfortunately did not have a baby sitter, and I was loathe to drive anywhere with the kids or to leave them with someone who we barely knew who was advertising themselves at R120.00 an hour.

We tried to find a babysitter and when all failed, we opted to accept we would be Johnny-no-mates at home this year.

We put on our best attire and headed to the Spur – Patrick served us, it was great, it was just us and about a dozen other people at the Spur – lovely for us, shite for the staff.

After we had eaten our body weight in chicken wings and ice-cream, we headed home and watched the A-Team on our new Blue-Ray thingy-ma-jig.  It was brilliant with the surround sound.

I would not have thought I would enjoy the A-Team, but I clearly had not given them a chance.  It was brilliant – cars ramping and exploding, thousands of bullets being fired, and barely any one dying!

Enjoyed it thoroughly – actually it was better than the television series!

Kids went to bed, Kennith fell asleep on the couch and I watched Sherlock Holmes – another fabulous movie.

Midnight approached. I woke Kennith up.  We stumbled out on to our stoep to watch the fireworks – we can see the mountain and a large section of Cape Town from our house.

We congratulated ourselves on a job well done and went inside.  It was great, might do a few more like that in the coming years.

So that is where we are on this third day of January two thousand and eleven.

Quick recap:

  • I headed back to work today to train the person who will be taking over from me – it’s a very strange situation.
  • Kennith is still on leave and he will need to go and buy stationery and school supplies this week, which usually costs us the equivalent of a heart and lung machine.
  • Isabelle is now 18 months, and for all purposes is a happy and healthy toddler.  Concerns: she does not use any words, none.  She still eats pureed food.  I feed her only vegetables and fruit, no meat.  More because once you flick them on to meat, it is like changing your grandfather’s nappy.
  • There has been no news on my missing dog, and that still makes me very sad, and sometimes I have a little cry when I am on the toilet (because sometimes it is the only place I can be alone).

Okay so that is my little catch up.

I am hoping my brain kicks into gear soon.  Apologies, as it really has been out to lunch for quite some time, and I can hardly string a sentence together, let alone do a decent blog post, so please be patient with me until I find my mojo again.

Contrary to popular belief, I have not off’ed myself with a broken wine bottle, I am here, I am fine, I just need to get my shit together, and remember why I put on clean underwear in the morning.

I am a turd ….

Clearly I have had a really crappy week!

By the time I get home from my fun at work, I am exhausted.  Not yawn exhausted but my-nerves-are-frayed exhausted.

I arrive home to be assaulted by dust and dirt and usually a contractor who has not arrived to finish what is supposed to be finished.  Which then is an indicator that what ever was going to take x time will now take x+1 day times. (Hey I did HG Algebra I will have you know …. until I dropped to SG, because if I kept up HG, I would never pass Standard 10)

I am not exactly on a go-faster-contractor-go-faster clock or anything, but I do want the contractors to finish so they can spend less time with my family, and well, more time with theirs.  (I could say I want them to fek off and leave me alone, but I was trying to find a more diplomatic way of putting it, as someone recently suggested I might not have the cleanest mouth for a blogger …. with children.)

My patience level is at an all time low, and my ability to interact with people is on the decline.

The kids have not been more (or less) difficult than normal.  The problem is that by the time I have them herded into the car, and I have pulled out of the respective school parking lots, an argument has ensued between the two of them.

This is all standard practice in our drives home.  I can usually switch off a bit, as my brain goes out for a little mental walk about, whilst they bicker about what ever it is that they are bickering about that day.  I am however feeling a little tense and the car drives home feel like agony and an eternity.

This week, I am a little low on resources and this week, I am a bit low on everything including my ability to “act normal” when a normal situation occurs.

I get home and count the minutes until everyone goes to bed, so I can just fall down and go “thank fek I survived another day!”

On Thursday morning Connor was looking for his school shorts.  He asked me where they were.  I responded by getting really angry at him and telling him that he needs to get his things together in the evening and not leave it until the morning and I was blah-blah-blah lecture blah-blah-blah vent.

(My berating him for asking me where they were, did take longer than if I had just told him where they were – I subsequently noted this point!)

Connor then decided he would go and look in the spare room for his shorts.

Problem is that because of the window-framer guys, the kids are bunking together and Isabelle is sleeping in the spare room and not in her room, because there is too much dust and dirt in her room.

Connor walks in to the spare room – Isabelle wakes up, and then starts calling for me.  He solves the problem by leaving the room, and closing the door, which of course (strangely enough) does not make Isabelle lie down and go back to sleep again.

The problem is now I need to stop preparing myself for work.  Go pick her up, change nappy, get bottle, settle her while I am trying to get breakfast for Connor and Georgia, and strain my tea bag in my tea cup –which I desperately need.

My usual routine, is to try to get ready and then go and pick her up out of her cot.

It just makes the morning a bit less complicated, and sort of ensures that I have taken some consideration with my wardrobe – like my shoes matching for instance and I got my bra facing the correct way – I aim just for the small things.

I got annoyed with Connor – and then I screamed at him through clenched teeth: “What the hell is wrong with you! I told you to use your shorts from yesterday, you have now woken up Isabelle! What the hell is wrong with you!

I was really angry, and I was not angry with him, I was angry with the situation I found myself in.

I was angry with my fekn company. I was angry that they did not value me enough to make an alternate plan.

I was angry that I was standing in my shortie jammies in the middle of the kitchen at 6am, and I already had grit and grime under my bare feet.

I was angry that I would not get 10 minutes to drink my tea while I prepare myself mentally to face this day.

I was angry that I had to go to work and continue to act like a mature person when all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and have a good cry.

I was angry that my financial situation is so precarious – though Kennith assures me that it is not.  I am angry that I will now be more of a strain on our financial position, rather than in a position to get us into a better financial position.  I was angry that now I will be more of a burden on Kennith.

I was angry that I had eaten all the damn cupcakes and the bag of Chuckles.

I was angry that there is now this issue with my mother, and I do not know how to resolve it.  I am angry that there is just too much stuff to deal with.

I WAS ANGRY, and I took it out on my eight year old child because he went to look for his school shorts in the room where the washing is kept, and it would make sense that that is where it is.

I feel like such a turd!  Because I was using my anger to have a go at him.  Because his feeling bad, somehow made me feel better (victorious) for about 3 seconds, and then I just felt like a total total turd!

I fetched Isabelle, changed her bum, warmed her bottle, gave her a cuddle while I tried to drink my tea and not mess  any of it on her (to avoid any rush visits to the burn unit at Medi Clinic).

I got dressed, herded the kids in the car and then drove to school while I alternated patting Connor on the head, and resting my hand on his leg (in a non suggestive manner), because I felt like such a stupid horrible f*kwit.

Friday followed, and when I fetched Connor I explained that I was not having the best day in the best week, in the best month, and that I was really horrible to him the day before.

It was not about him, he did nothing wrong.  I was just angry and stupid and was mean to him – and I was really sorry. (I sniffed back a little chunky tear as well)

Connor said: “It’s okay mom, I understand!”

Which of course forced me to explain why it was not okay that I was horrible to him.  But that I loved him and I was still a turd!

Connor likes bum humour, it cheers him up no end.

I would like Kennith to come home now, so this turd can hand over the imaginary reins of my life to him.

(This post was written on Friday, and I only posted it now, so Kennith is back, which is great.)

Nothing sucks like November ….

I can officially say that November 2010 sucks.

Not like little-tadpoles-sucking-off-the-dead-skin-between-your-toes sort of suck, but total m*ther*cker sort of suck!

The month started with my mother reading my recent blog post, and let’s just say the results are not good.  Nope, pretty bad all around to put it mildly.

Of course we can argue that there was a little psychology at play, as why did I post such a personal post on my blog if I did not want her to read it?

And I may well suggest that the post was more about me and it was on MY blog, and not meant as a passive-aggressive note to her.  I also sort of hoped she would not read it as she is often too busy, and maybe would have skipped that one.

What ever the psychology or explanation, it is done, she read my post.  There is now a certain amount of fall out from that – as you can well surmise.

So what was initially an emotionally puking post, has now turned into a rather larger issue that needs to be dealt with.

If I felt bad before, well that can’t hold a candle to how bad I feel now.  I have not quite been disowned, but let’s say I am outside of the “circle of trust.”

Coming on the back of that, is meeting with my new therapist.  She is lovely and very results-driven, and she wears really sparkly shoes (no, really she does)!

She pushes for decisions, and for me to confront difficult issues in a manner that I have not really experienced before.

Therapists love to chat and chat and chat some more (R825.00 an hour is really great motivation to keep a conversation going).  This one loves to chat, and then cuts to the chase and pushes me to make a plan to move on.

Quite liking her approach – and as said, she is results and task driven, so she is not really wanting me to sit with me on a couch for the next 12 months chatting about life.

That has been really good, and it has helped me see things in a different light and I think also really helped with dealing with some of my relationship issues, as well as seeing how things in my past bear a direct link to how I am reacting to something now.

One of the things she has helped me to address is the way I deal with money.  This also feeds into the way we, as a couple, deal with our finances and how we relate to each other when it comes to money.

It really is powerful stuff – in one session there was more progress with her than I have had in months with other therapists.

(To not detract from the work I have done with other therapists, part of it might be that I am in a different “place” now and maybe  more ready/able to move forward on issues now than I was five years ago.)

My financial position is quite dire – “quite” being the understatement in that sentence.  I really want to say f*cking dire, but I do not think that language would be appropriate.

I have been hiding this from Kennith with a very advanced system of smoke and mirrors.  To cut a long story short, if I was a company I would be in liquidation and as the CEO I might have either run off to the Caymans or putting a sawn-off shot-gun between my teeth.

I am also not “able” to ask for help.

The result is I have been limping along for some time and not letting Kennith know.  He has not been given the opportunity to assist me, as he has not had any idea how bad the situation was.  And I was growing angrier with him each month, because he was not helping me (because he did not know, you get how this cycle is working?)

Each month has got progressively worse for me financially, and I have really been stressed about both the money (and my lack of it) and the deceit.

I find it really hard work to hide things from Kennith, not because he is so awfully clever at figuring things out. But because I have to constantly bite my tongue and not blurt out sh*t that is running around inside my head!

But therapy has helped me out enormously.

Though the financial issue is not a thing of the past, Kennith and I were able to have a reasonable discussion that did not result in me crying in the kitchen – as is often the place of many of my tears and usually signals our past discussions regarding money/finance and related issues.

In addition to the above,  we are renovating our house – part of the house. Having builders and dust, and jackhammers is stressful in anyone’s world.

It has been going on for about six weeks, and I am at that point where I am a little over it.  Every day I get home and the house looks like it was in the siege of Beirut.  There is dust and grit everywhere and I am actually sick of it – like pop another Zoloft sick of it!

I can see the bigger picture that it will be lovely when done.

It is going to be so incredible that we are going to fall on our knees and thank our project manager/builder guy profusely, but right now,  I really want everyone with cement, a wheelbarrow and any other tool to actually just bugger off, and clean up as they go!

(You understand I want them to finish the job and then bugger off.  Buggering off with a half complete job will of course be the thing to tip me right over the edge. Hence I want them to finish TODAY already –  the reality is that we are in for another two weeks minimum.)

Building besides being messy stressful, is also money stressful.  You start to think that you have spent too much money that you actually did not have in the first place. You also start these projects and think well we will just paint the house, next thing you are knocking down walls, putting up electric gates, moving the braai area, changing the stoep, taking out window frames.

So what started as a simple little paint job has turned into an Extreme Home Makeover!

Kennith is stressed because there is this constant outflow of cash.

I am stressed because he is stressed and then I start to panic, because if he is stressing about money, then there is a chance that we will not be able to afford wine on the grocery list, and then I start to panic a bit more!

Last week one of the builders left the side gate open, so my 10 year old Staffordshire Bull Terrier ran away.

I only found out three hours later as I was at my daughter’s concert and no one noticed she was out as the builder (good on you) had just closed the gate after she had bolted and not told anyone.

By the time I knew, she could have been in Port Nolloth already.  She runs pretty fast when she gets her head down, even for a chubby girl.

I have contacted all the necessary.

Some great people have helped me in circulating news about her, but right now it has been a week and no sign of her, and I am fearing the worst.  She is micro-chipped but does not wear a collar (as she would have strangled herself a dozen times) – so the only way she can be traced back to me is if someone takes her into a vet.

I am worried what could have happened to her  I am worried what someone is doing with her.  I am worried she might be hungry or cold, or hungry and cold and hurt!

I feel terribly guilty that I did not take more care and shoot the guy who left the gate open before he left the gate open, so he did not leave the gate open, so I would not have to shoot him!

Then when I felt that possibly November could not actually get much worse – what with being disowned, my dog running away, my dire financial situation being unveiled and the end of my phantom pregnancy, I get called into a meeting earlier this week.

I am always suspicious.

And that is the end of the sentence.

I am always suspicious.

I have sensed for the last two months that all is not right over here in the world of where I work, there is just something going on.

For the last month I have felt a definite shift and it has not been a good one.  I did not know what was going on, but I knew something was and it was leaving me feeling uneasy and skittish.

Of course in my paranoia, everything is about me.  I did something wrong.  I stole the petty-cash. I have been downloading porn.  I have been using too much milk in my tea.  I have been surfing the internet during work hours. (okay that one is true!)

Anyway I get called into a meeting on Tuesday afternoon.

Tip:  If the HR person is ever cc’d on an email where you are asked to attend a meeting, start packing your stuff into a brown box BEFORE the meeting.

To cut a long story short, I was retrenched!

Yes, I too was horrified, probably a bit more than you right now.

It took a lot for me not to throw myself against the leg of the director and scream “why me, why me, I promise to behave, I promise to be good, why me….?”

In the scene in my head I did just that, which made me have a rather disconcerting look on my face as I tried to continue with the meeting in a very adult manner.

It is very hard to act like an adult, and look like you are taking it firmly on the chin when actually you want to scream and drizzle like an eight year old, and cry uncontrollably until you throw up on the board room table.

I sat there attempting to look very demure and mature.

But with all things it was not all about me, there are a number of other staff who are being retrenched.

And though one should take comfort that we “are all in this together” and stand around singing “someone`s sleeping, lord, kumbaya, oh, lord, kumbaya” the reality is that at the end of January I will not have a paycheck, and so will 16 or so of my fellow work mates.

Add that to the stress of my already precarious financial situation, the gazillion rand we are throwing at the renovating, and the wedding we had to pay for this year and the fact that we were still recovering from last year’s maternity leave/four months unemployment, let’s just say it is all just well a little stressful and this retrenchment thing blows chunks!

So all in all you can see how I can use the phrase November sucks like a m*therf*cker!

Mercury in retrograde …… I don’t make this stuff up

So yesterday I just had a super shit kind of day at work.

It was not that it was shit really, it was just that I am exhausted by having to check and re-check on the same crap over and over again.  In my day I literally run out of time.  Not because I have too much on my plate – which I do – but because I am spending my time doing things that are actually not core to my job, and then I am having to do them repeatedly.

By not doing them, will impact on my job getting through the factory and being delivered on time to my client (I am in print and production.)  Though many issues are actually not “my responsibility” – they do become my problem if they do not occur.

As much as I want to just say well “fuck it, if it happens it happens” and toddle on my merry way. The inevitable result is that my client will be upset – with me.   And my client will not have whatever element they have been promised at a particular time – again resulting in me feeling responsible.

There is always the risk that my client will go “you know those wankers at ******* stuffed up my job and I will never print with them again…”

A few of those clients and well, we may all face a little unemployment in the not too distant future.

For the last month it has got stoo-pid busy at work.  The result is that cracks are starting to show, and I am starting to slowly spin off my axis.  (I have also been restricted internet access, but let’s leave that for another post.)

I realise that part of my job – the main component actually – is checking and rechecking details.  That is what I do when all is said and done.

But at a certain point (this point) I am so exhausted – I am having to check and recheck again and again and again.

Yesterday I got to recheck a proof that I have now checked 6 times – part client error, part our guys who print the proofs, who did not check their work before it was given to me.

I spent more than two hours of my day fighting with our accounts, and the financial director of another company.  I was trying to confirm payment on a job – us paying a supplier COD.  I could not get delivery if we could not prove we had paid for the job (if my job is not delivered, I cannot get it to a client as promised, and we are already pretty far into damage control territory).

I spent another hour sorting out something that was meant to be done the night before, but wasn’t – and I was only informed after 2pm.  So there I was in a mad panic to sort it out (this delay impacts on another company who needs our element to bind a magazine).

I realized a proof that was ready after 11am was left lying unattended and was not delivered until well after 16h30 – and I have a client asking when they can get their job (well clearly not before I get them to sign the proof.)

Each of these things are not huge issues in their own right.  But it is the compounded affect, plus the addition of the dozen or so other things that make my day a bit more challenging than I had hoped, that finally tipped me over the edge.

Unfortunately yesterday afternoon was not my finest hour.

I lost all decorum  – and I just felt the shit was insurmountable.  I had that moment when things get a little hazy and then I totally threw a fanny-flap and stormed out of my office, flinging my half closed bag over my shoulder like some deranged woman!  (this is after screaming what I can only describe as blasphemous comments to a supplier because I was so enraged …. )

Drove my car too fast, spoke on my cell phone – you know me, living dangerously – I was so po(*)s angry.

When I got home and I had sufficient wine to steady my nerves – I decided to tell Kennith what I crap crap crap day/week/month I was having and how totally totally out of control it was.

I started bitching and whining and pulling out my hair.  He tried at one point to offer advise, and actually all I needed him to do was stand there while I just vomited complaints about my day.

When it looked like my story had wound down, and I had a semblance of slight calm about me, and at least another two glasses of wine sorted, then Kennith suggested that:

“Mercy is in retrograde.  A planet is described to be in retrograde when it appears to be moving backwards through the zodiac. Actually this is an illusory planetary motion created by the orbital rotation of the earth with relation to other planets in the solar system. Planets are never actually retrograde or stationary, they just seem that way due to this cosmic shadow-play.

The planet Mercury rules thinking and perception and all types of communication. When Mercury goes retrograde it gives rise to personal misunderstandings. There would be delays, flaws and hitches in all communication related areas like transportation, trade,etc.

Astrologers advise not to make any important decisions while Mercury is retrograde, since it is likely that such decisions will be marred by misinformation, poor communication and careless thinking.”

Well that explains it then ….