Everybody is good at their job?
Noone thinks they are shit at their job.
How many times have you come home from work and whinged and whined about the complete imbeciles you have to deal with at work? How many other people you work with do the exact same thing with their loved ones at the end of the work day?? Including the person who you think is an imbecile?!
I sometimes send my brain around in circles thinking about this stuff. It’s like a chain of idiots. We all pass the buck down the chain, each thinking the next colleague is infinitely stupider than we, wondering why noone can do their job properly except me and possibly a couple of others lucky enough not to make it onto the black list. I wonder if the people who are truely crap realise that they are truely crap. I’m sure they go home even more frustrated than those who are not truely crap, because they are so awful they don’t have the ability to try and fix things for themselves. They would go around thinking they are the only smart one, and everyone else is crazy-stupid! What if I’m truely crap and don’t even know it?
I need a life. Seriously, I waste far too much time thinking in these circles.
Laziness Personified
That’s me. I am completely ravenous, haven’t eaten since breakfast, it’s now 8pm.
I have food in the fridge I can cook. Delicious food, my favourite: Bacon.
I cannot bring myself to rise my arse off the chair, take it to the kitchen and cook the stuff. Even the thought of driving for takeaway is not appealing.
Laziness personified. See? I told you!
Defining a Grown-Up
I often say that I don’t feel terribly grown-up.
I do grown-up things. I’m married. I’ve bought new cars. I’ve bought houses. I work full-time, get promoted, am given responsibility at work. I’ve gone on holidays to foreign countries, without supervision. I contemplate having children in the next couple of years, and so it goes on… all very grown-up activities, but still I sometimes feel like a child playing pretend.
Don’t get playing pretend confused with being unhappy. All of the things I do and participate in make me happy or content in some way. It just doesn’t seem real sometimes. I find it hard to put my finger on the feeling, find it hard to articulate exactly what causes me to feel that way. Because it’s so difficult, I don’t know whether the feeling will ever go away.
Am I crazy? Does anyone else feel this way? Maybe only being a parent will make that feeling go away. Or perhaps even then I’ll occasionally feel like I’m watching the scene from the sidelines as I change my own child’s nappy, almost like an out-of-body experience… whilst thinking to myself “Which crazy bastard gave her a child?! She’s still a kid inside herself!”
Disconnected
Ever get the feeling you’re disconnected from your own life?
It’s a funny feeling, in the pit of your chest, literally like your heart is hurting. It’s as though you no longer know or remember who the true-you is. Did you ever know? The closest I’ve ever heard it described is on real-life medical shows when they tell the patient that a side effect of a medication is a feeling of ‘impending doom’. I remember having this feeling for the very first time when I was about 6 years old. I know I was around this age, because we still lived in England at the time. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but I felt a disconnection from myself and those around me, which suddenly caused me to feel so incredibly sad that I burst into tears. The feeling passed after a few moments, and even now as I try to recall more recent episodes of this feeling, I can’t put my finger on its trigger.
Sometimes it happens, it goes away, I feel fine and forget about it. As I get older, I’m beginning to worry more about it. My family has a history of mental illness, both diagnosed (great-aunts institutionalised) and undiagnosed (my mother has had a ‘mid-life crisis’ of sorts over the past four years, my sister has shown signs of having some rather large issues, both biological grandfathers have addictive personalities… one to women and generally being a butthead, the other to alcohol). I suppose I feel nervous that perhaps I might be next. I feel completely normal almost all the time, but once every few months, I’ll have a ‘moment’ where I feel like I don’t even know myself.
I think there is concern from my husband as well, that maybe I’ll do what my Mum did, throw up my hands, tell him to “get fucked, I want my youth back”, take half of everything we built together and proceed to piss it up the wall on plastic surgery and other bullshit. I can’t think of anything worse, I really can’t stand that element of my mother’s personality and her life, and cannot imagine going down the same road. But I doubt that was her plan either in her early twenties. How can I guarantee it? I want to be there for him forever, but what if my mind does all of a sudden decide it wants to be pashing young things at the disco once again… and the only thing standing in my way of that and world full of other fun is my husband?
Sometimes I feel like I can’t trust my mind in 20 years time. Is being aware of the possibility enough to stop it coming true?
