This has got to stop

Nightmares. Bad dreams. Bits of badly digested potato and meatballs manifested in lucid, lurid and disturbing dreams about family. Arguments. I haven't had these in a long while.
When I first moved here I had nightmare all the time. Screaming ones. Ones I'd wake up from crying and yelling until Husband held me in his arms. All of them having to do with family.
The dreams are back but this time I don't scream, yell or cry. I wake up arguing to myself.
This has got to stop. How to fix this? I'm 13 weeks pregnant and I really got my ass in gear here. I don't need or want this grief. Is it time to go See the Shrink again? I might do so...

Sleep deprivation is a useful tool in torture. You can reduce even the most resilient and most mild-mannered individuals to a ravening mass of nerves if you deprive them of enough sleep.

If one gets their heads out of their arses long enough to observe the patterns of life, one tends to notice when Fate gives you a little fair warning that the road ahead might prove a little bumpy and sometimes it's best not to tempt Her by ignoring Her helpful little clues. And Lady Luck is not always there to save you.

Three weeks ago I get a phone call from the Auld Dear. She's in tears because her next-door neighbour had died and she went to the funeral and oh, wasn't the Mass just lovely, with the singing choirs and the entire community showing up to pay their respects. I felt a grain of sympathy so I asked Husband to call her and think about going to see her to spend some time with his mammy.

Next thing I know, I'm being lampooned onto joining him on a whirlwind two-day trip back to Dublin, which included a shopping trip around the Quays for tiles and fixtures and a meeting with the Architect on Wednesday morning.

From the moment we were packing, I knew I should have stayed in bed and let Husband go to this one alone. I asked Husband about baggage requirements and next thing I know, he threw a Strop. Ah, you think, Fate's first Clue. Did I heed Her? Did I bollocks. We already spent thirty sodding quid on the flight, so why stay back at the last minute? Waste of money, that is. And anyway, I had a Plan. And with a little help from Lady Luck, my Plan would go well. It would be a pleasant trip.

My Plan, as I related to Husband, was that I would stay under her cold and miserable roof, under the strict condition that I not eat or socialise there. Husband, of course, is free to spend as much time with her as he wishes.

The Plan, of course, backfired. That's what you get for calling on Lady Luck, eh?

We arrived on Monday night and Ken and I were exhausted from the trip so we went straight to bed. The Auld Dear remained in the sitting room to watch her programmes and we settled to sleep. Early next morning I got up, had a quick wash, and shot off before anyone else was awake to have a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast and fruit at the Cafe Java and then going off for a long overdue shopping spree.

So it was a good day for me, really, by the time I met up with Husband, armed with new purchases and we spent a good few hours ooohing and aaahing at the lovely baths and fixtures and glass tiles and tiles imported from Italy.

We had a leisurely supper at a new-ish Italian restaurant about ten-minutes' walk from his mammy's. We got back, in good humour but I was completely exhausted, so I made my excuses and went upstairs for an early night. Ken opted to stay downstairs with his mam until whenever they decided it was time to call it quits.

I collapsed onto the bed and tried to sleep. But the Auld Dear decided that the TV was simply not loud enough for the pair of them and turned the volume up. I was tossing and turning in bed for a good couple of hours, putting pillows over my head and trying my best to block out the strains of RTE through ten acres of pillow and duvet piled over my head.

Now you know what I am like when I am deprived of sleep. Since I am a guest (and I use the term loosely, since I've never really felt like a guest in that house, only someone whose presence is merely tolerated) I couldn't really make any demands, after all, we are staying there for free. So I simply put on my pyjamas and robe, marched downstairs and stormed into the sitting room and sat at the chair opposite the Auld Dear's to watch television.

"Oh," she smarms, "I thought you were going to sleep."

"I was," I gritted through my teeth. "But now that I am up, why don't we discuss the house? Isn't this an excellent opportunity? Husband, darling, in your opinion, should we board up the chimney in our room? I fear that even with the best floor insulation, the sound in the new living room will leak up to the room."

After a few measly (but very insincere, as far as I can tell) apologies from her and the TV turned off at 11:30 PM, we sat in the room in awkward silence and Husband just glared at me. A half hour after I settled back into bed, Husband creeps in, still angry with me that I "caused a fuss".

The next morning, it was Husband who went out first for breakfast and then I later joined him at the cafe but I really didn't want to. We hardly spoke to each other but that wasn't a patch on the atmosphere in the breakfast room when I arrived a few minutes late for the meeting with Eugene. The Auld Dear was there, lips purses, dandelion hair in full frizz with a look that would curdle milk. The room was filled with what can only euphemistically called Atmosphere. You could have sliced the air with a rusty butter knife.

After a harrowing three hours discussing the building work in every detail and walking around the house(interspersed with the light aural warfare going on between me and the Auld Dear "Oh. So many needs for sockets for appliances, eh? she sniffs, "No mention if any of them will be a hoover." to which I retort "So where *would* you like your washer/dryer or are you thinking of hiring the live-in maid you keep referring to for cleaning your clothes?"), with Husband sitting on either side of us pretending not to hear or pay attention to the building catfight. Oh, and the Auld Dear

It was already two in the afternoon by the time Eugene left, which left us not much time to do much else but beggar off but that still didn't prevent the Auld Dear from turning on the water-works in a last ditch effort to get us to listen to her blubbing. I fell for it, of course, because I'm an old softy and helpless in the face of sadness in anyone, scheming old wenches included, but the tears quickly turned to meandering talks about Mr and Mrs-So-and-So and it was time to beggar off. We had to leave town by five and we only had time to eat something light and I was damned if it wa going to be cold ham and more bullshit conversation from her. Besides, Husband always ignores her and it's always me who has to play the game-show host and after the night before, I was simply not in the mood. So I got up and started walking out of the house.

I really hate going to Dublin, now....

Oh the drudgery...

I've been off work for the past five months - purely out of my own volition, really. I took the first three and half months as an unpaid sabbatical from my last job, which I quit. I've only quit from another job without another job to look forward to once - that was back in 2003. Over the course of working in that post, my self-esteem was gradually chipped away so much that in the end, I gave up. My co-workers and my manager were awful people - catty, mean, counter-productive. It was such a poisonous environment and I had never been used to being treated that way. It was a wrench leaving it, the money was so good but by the end I was so tired of dealing with all of their bullshit that I couldn't handle it anymore. I can still remember spending agonising mornings curled up in bed, dreading to go to work. It was not a happy time for me. I was recently arrived in this country and I felt so isolated and alone. For the first time I understood my parents' isolation.

Eight and a half months later I received a phone call from a recruiter who had seen my CV for a job with a major electronics firm. The job was technical support. I didn't get the post but the recruiter was so adamant that I be hired that I ended up working in another job, a better one, albeit less paid. It was a really cosy environment. My co-workers came from all over the world and I felt more at home there than at any time in my last job, which was staffed entirely by local people. I could breathe.

But after nearly two years and some company restructuring, I needed to get out. Besides the commute was killing me. I found another post closer to home for more money.

Boy, what a mistake that was. Sure the money was better but the environment was frankly horrid. This was a bona fide, 100 per cent call centre - complete with call monitoring, idiotic rules and moronic team leaders. After six weeks I was ready to quit, money or no but I hung on, for the sake of the growing baby.

But then I lost the baby and then there was just no real reason to stay. I decided on doing as close to six months as I could manage and begged off using the "I'm leaving the country" excuse. I couldn't stand the sight of my team lead and in the five and a half months I had worked there, I saw a turnaround of 11 people - in a team of fifteen - including the quality control monitor and the manager.

I am so sick of shite jobs. The only really decent job I had was the one I did back home, six months before I left. It was challenging and fun and well-paid. I learned so much. The first job I took here was a challenge, and I did learn alot but it still makes me sad today how little support I had when I was there.

I bumped into my ex-manager at that same job... he looked tired and weary and depressed. His job is going to be axed. His department will be outsourced to a competing firm so he faces the very real possibility of losing his job. We were hired at the same time, he as my manager but he never really got the hang of managing in a true sense. He's actually a big part of why I left. Personally, I kinda like the guy: he's funny in a self-deprecating sort of way. But he wasn't there for me and I don't think I'd work with him again. I don't feel happy that he's going to be sacked (or let go or whatever) but I don't feel sympathy either. Where was his sympathy when I needed a reference? Where was his sympathy and understanding when I was on the verge of a breakdown...

It was odd seeing him too... like bumping into an ex who cheated on you but who you still kind of liked. I did feel a grain of pity for him. He has two girls he pays to support, from a previous relationship. He's intensely personal about his private life so I really don't know much about him. But I worked with him long enough to know that this was someone who knew a lot of heartache.

Food consumed:
06:00 pint ice milk
9:00 2 coffees with milk, sugar
10:30 green salad with 2 tomatoes, 2 slices of toasted bread spread with Austrian cream cheese, 5 mini choc chip cookies
12:30 Can of coke
13:00 - 16:30 tofu/shrimp mushroom/tomato tom yum soup, prawn crackers, dip, hoisin sauce, 2 cans of Coke, 4 mini choc chip biscuits, cup of milk
20:00 half co-op meat pizza, 2 cans coke
F/V: 5
Meats: 2
Bread: 5
Dairy: 4

12:00 2 coffees, 2 biscuits
14:30 1/2 co-op pizza (not all of it), 2 cans coke
21:00 fried trout, mashed potato, 2 cans 7up
22:00 1/2 co-op choc layer cake, pint ice skim milk

09:00 2 mini bread rolls, austrian horseradish, 1/2 pc choc cake, 2 coffees
03:30 small glass white wine, mussels, sm piece of bread, taste of choc mousse with fruit, bit of early grey tea

Sleepless

Items consumed since last post:
One and a half bottles of white wine
2 shots of whiskey
6 mini vegetarian spring rolls with dipping sauce
half a mini tortilla
5 Lidl Dolcetti biscuits
The flat is clean! I mean really clean. I slaved over it all day and am now reaping the benefits. I've only left to sort out my filing cabinet and all the papers in my bag and that is IT for 2006. I've never seen my home so tidy. The cleaners won't have a hell of a lot to tidy up (ohhh but I'll find them things to do: change sheets, deep clean of bathroom, dusting all surfaces, etc..)
My friend Zoolander came over (hence reason for said cleaning... well, partially...) and we talked and drank and ate for over four hours. He's off back to Belgium on Sunday (sniff! that yet another one of my friends gone.... :( ... )
I woke up at 4:00 AM and can't sleep since. My stomach is off and head feels heavy but I did drink lots of water and am now drinking ice milk. I'm not hungry but I'm not sleepy either. This is a bit annoying because I would like to get some rest.

Diet Update:

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Breakfast: Porridge, tea
Lunch: Green salad
Supper: Big bowl of Brussels sprouts, 1 fried chorizo, 1 small piece of tortilla, 1 slice of bread with Nutella

Today (so far):

Breakfast: coffee
Lunch: 2 slices of fried chorizo, 2 slices of bread

Planning to have a green salad later (after I tidy up) and for supper, probably a Thai shrimp hot n sour soup!

In a strop... again....

Husband has now been sulking for two and a half days. He expects an apology but he never apologises for his actions, the selfish bastard.

Here's what happenned:

Husband works from home this week. He had not once helped out around the house, or even driven me to get groceries. I'd mentionned on numerous occasions that I wanted to swing by the garden centre to get some Xmas decorations. Being the lazy bastard that he is, he just generally ignores anything I say regarding shopping. It's not as if I insist on being taken to Harvey-fucking-Nichols every week here.... it's just food stuffs and some bloody Christmas decorations and the odd thing for the home.

But no, sit on his ass he will, reading his poxy sci-fi books or playing with one of his seven laptops.

So I had had it on Thursday. After waiting for a taxi to pick me up at Lidl - and there were no taxis... I walked all the way, with huge amount of bags of groceries, in the freezing fucking rain, raging all the way home. He was working on some spreadsheet or some such bullshit and says he couldn't help.

So I lost it. Screamed everything under the sun. I am tired of having the same argument with him. Well, I say argument, but really it's just a rant.

Me: The spare room looks like a kip!
Him: Nothing
Me: When's the last time you lifted a finger around the house?
Him: Nothing.

And then it got personal.

Me: Do you fucking think that our sex life is going anywhere? It's a goddamned routine. You're getting lazy!
Him: Nothing - not even batting an eyelash.
Me: You know what? I'm fed up! You want sex? Clean the damned spare room or no sex. Well, no sex for YOU that is... cause I'm gonna cheat on you!

Etc... etc....

Of course, I won't cheat on him but I am so fed up of getting no reaction from him. Yes, I did apologise for saying that. Actually what I said was "I'm not going to cheat on you."

But then he says to me on Friday.

Him: What would happen if I told you that you were too fat for sex and that you should look for a job?
Me: Well, simple. I would lose weight and look for a job.
Him: Your feelings would not be hurt?
Me: Yes. But I'd still lose weight and look for a job.
Him: ...
Me: You expect me to apologise for the things I said? You apologise first for the things that you don't do - like help. I may hurt you for things I say but you hurt me by things you don't do. (And, dear reader, I'm the one always apologising but he di dick all for the past four-and-a-half years around the house unless it was under duress.)

So it's Day Three and he now refuses to sit with me at breakfast. We've hardly touched each other. I'm hurt and angry and sometimes it's on the tip of my tongue to apologise but I won't. Because he has to take the first step in acknowledging that actions do speak louder than words.

Bah humbug

It's the run-up to Christmas and though I am still, shall we say, "in between jobs", it is amazing just how much my diary fills up with things to do and places to be.
Firstly, I've been busy job-hunting. No serious offers yet but it's good to keep the ole ears open for any new prospects... keep my CV nice and polished and interviewing skills honed to perfection.
I've also been travelling a bit - was in Vienna at the beginning of this month for a few days, soaking up the culture and sucking up as much Viennese coffee a caffeine addict can handle!
I've not had time to keep track of everything I've eaten in the past few weeks so I'll start today:

11:00 AM Viennese coffee (I brought back the beans straight from Vienna)
2:00 PM green salad, 2 slices of toast with horseradish cream cheese and a bit of left over fried potatoes and eggs (I was making tortillas with all the leftover potatoes/eggs in the fridge in a bid to have everything finished by Wednesday)
6:00 PM more green salad, toast with same cream cheese, 2 slices of tortilla, 4 mini choc chip cookies, milk

It's 10:32 PM and I feel bloated and pre-menstrual and gross. Somehow I think I shouldn't have had that last meal but I was afraid of possible midnight snacking... so now I can just relax with a nice cup of jasmine tea...