At least I'm not panhandling with a 3 legged dog

Started back at work this week. If you call 2 x 3hour sessions of the most pathetic attempts to be useful "back at work".

3 hours of "Can you do this basic task?" - "No sorry its too painful".

Tried my best to ignore the resentful tone and bitchiness. Hey this is fashion after all - What were you expecting? Sympathy?

Feel like a right eejit as I struggled to put A4 sheets of paper in to A4 plastic pockets.

Really appreciate the quiet word from a senior in another team, saying "Take your time, don't let them push you around".

Watch helplessly as a co-worker struggled with a computer program I could use in my sleep (but apparently not with one arm tied behind my back)

Feeling so demoralised (and in pain) after the first session I had to fight bawling my eyes out on the train ride home.

Swaddling my arm in ice packs and wailing like a banshee, till exhausted, I eventually feel asleep (at 3 in the afternoon).

Rinse. Repeat.

Less wailing the second time though. Thankfully.


P.S. Workcover has finally approved my claim. Yay - we can go to the supermarket! (6 weeks on leave without pay is an added complication I could have lived without)

As Age so aptly highlighted - at least we do have Workcover. If I was in any one of the places in Asia he's worked, it would be just me and the dog.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I can't call it workaholism - but all I seam to do is work and sleep. It's like a pendulum - bleary eyed stumbling off to work and then when the sun goes down I get home, crumble in a heap - maybe eat something and then go to bed, to repeat the cycle again.

The weekends are a befuddled mix of the realisation that OMG the only time I have to do the grocery shopping is Saturday morning along with every other person on the planet. AND I've turned into one of those delightful customers who seems to take an inordinate amount of time to locate their purse despite having 20 mins of queuing time to ready herself, manage to drop all my green bags on the floor (especially after the attendant has already packed the shopping) and can't seem to muster anything more intelligible than a grunt when spoken to.

The rest of the weekend is then spent wondering if I really do only have 3 black socks, despite countless searches and only discover the answer to this conundrum on Sunday night when I follow that strange smell and uncover all my underwear, socks and work clothes have gone mouldy from being left wet in the washing machine for too long. God help me if I decide to have children. I guarantee they'd be the ones living off spoonfuls of peanut butter and wearing garments fashioned from pillowcases.

But it's not all bad. It's just cold, and Jms has gone away and I feel a little unsettled because my Virgo self has yet to find a routine. In fact, this week highlights a marked improvement. I no longer have the startled bunny caught in the headlights look at work. I am vaguely competent and don't try and hide under a pile of t-shirts each time the phone rings anymore. There's been some really stressful things happening - completely outside our control - but nevertheless as the middle men it's our head on the block. Yet everyone still makes jokes and laughs (somewhat maniacally admittedly) and it is on the whole a very nice place to work. Which makes bitching about work seam quite unfair, because I am actually really enjoying my work - its just the bit outside it seems to be lacking in substance.

But its on the improve - I actually managed a cooked meal yesterday. Because Jms is away - I guess I'm having a bit of a meat fest. My cockles obviously needed some warming because I've been craving hearty fare. I made Beef Stroganoff last night. My one concession to my vague ideals of healthy living was to have it with wild rice. I usually make a vegetarian mushroom version, that to be honest is completely superior. But its the principle of the thing. While the vegetarian is away the carnivore shall play.

Tonight I went back to an old favourite - Osso bucco with gremolata and pappardelle. Unfortunately I misread Miss Stephanie's directions. Not 45 minutes cooking time but two 45 minute stewing sessions with an extra 30 mins to be sure. It really has been a while since I've made it. Needless to say, I'm not waiting till 10pm tonight to eat. So it's a cheese sandwich and a glass of red (I don't normally drink - but I bought some for the stew and well, its open now so I might as well). Time to fall asleep now in front of the teev.

Lunch tomorrow will be fantastic.

15 sleeps ...

Well.

I can't help but feel self conscious with this, my first post.
To be honest I thought blogging would be more like an opportunity to commit my internal monologue to "paper". But this is something far more awkward than that. I'm typing and meanwhile my internal monologue is backseat driving - screaming "you can say that - it's lame" or "just get to the point" amongst "be more pithy/witty" "don't self edit " meanwhile I barely type a sentence before I [backspace]

Urgh. I guess it gets easier with practice. I really want to find a voice that is not so self conscious. I guess I'm concerned about who YOU are. Do I know you? Is it better that I don't?

I've spent many an hour trolling the interwebs reading others posts - and they are frank and honest in a way that I casually assumed I could emulate. But looking at this dialogue box there seams to be a pressure to perform I didn't expect. I guess most people started blogging because they want to be famous or at least acknowledged, linked or listened to. I'm not sure that I even want to be read. By anyone. ever. Easy! I hear you say - just uncheck that box on the setup thingy! Yessss, but... then I won't ever be discovered...

Mmmm. Inside every shrinking violet is an underfed ego screaming for attention.

Then why blog? Why not just write in clandestine journals that shall never see the light of day? Well, yes I guess I do want to be read and linked to and be delicious'd. But perhaps only when I am confident of the things I have to say. Perhaps THAT is what this is all about. I want to find my voice - I want to have the opportunity to explore my ideas and interests in a way that can be catalogued and complied. A diary cannot link to other peoples exciting things or even encompass all the exciting things I have planned in my head that I need an excuse to commit to physical existence (even if only in a digital way). And at the end of the day - all that scrapbooking and careful attention one can lavish on the pages of a diary may never be found - chided perhaps by the self as indulgent or one day emotionally shared with a beloved...

But for me - embarking on a way to crystalise all the trillion ideas I have - the simple blog seams to be a way of creating a tether for all my creations, both personal and professional, whimsical and intellectual. So that one day I might be able to stand back and say - yes - that's me.

Pretty big ideas for a blog that may only last until the boy comes home from OS!

Mmmm. In a world of infinite possibilities it is hard not to be paralysed by choice...