whybother?

Well, it’s official- there is no scholarship. Time for Plan B: not sure what that will be yet. Any suggestions would be most welcome.

Meanwhile, I’ve joined a new team at work, which means another new manager. This is my 5th manager in 7 months! Must be some kind of record. I already knew this person, let’s call her "Flossy", as she works in the same office. Flossy has an annoying habit of calling everyone "Lovey". As in "Lovey, could you come here for a minute?" Or "Lovey, do you have that document I need?". She also has an annoying habit of using twenty times as many words as necessary, and periodically repeating herself. Repeatedly. It’s quite possible to enter Flossy’s office for a quick chat, and emerge an hour later. She also likes to lean in and semi-whisper in a confidential manner, as if she is telling you something she really shouldn’t be saying. It’s quite unnerving.

Flossy flaps, she fusses and she fluffs around. She can’t make a decision to save her life: she always needs to ‘consult’ at least half a dozen people before she makes her mind up. Sometimes she’ll make a decision on something, after much agonizing, then come back later or even the next day and say she’s changed her mind. Frustrating? You’d better believe it. Apparently, she is quite good at her job. I’ve yet to see any evidence of this.

Earlier today, I was in Flossy’s office with another colleague we’ll call Kelly. Flossy said that she would need me to take a car to a suburb 30-odd kilometres away and meet Kelly at Mrs X’s house, in order to have a discussion about a particular matter. Flossy advised that we would need two cars, as I would be required to come back to the office, with Kelly travelling elsewhere. I asked Flossy whether it wouldn’t be simpler to just phone Mrs X and discuss the matter. Kelly and Flossy exchanged looks and exclaimed "What a great idea!"

Fuck me.

A couple of hours later, Flossy approached me and said "Lovey, about that visit tomorrow…". Kelly stepped up and said "Oh, it’s ok, I rang Mrs X and she’s not interested". Flossy’s face lit up with joy "Oh, great! We don’t have to worry about it. What a relief!" 

Still haven’t heard anything. Either way.

Around Mollie’s birthday, which was in March, I had a big fight with my EMIL (Evil Mother In-Law). Well, it wasn’t a fight, so much as it was me expressing my disappointment and dismay with her behaviour and attitude. Well, ok, it was a fight. It ended with me ringing her, in an effort to try and resolve the issues in an adult manner. She hung up on me. Twice.

On March 27th, Mollie’s 11th birthday, EMIL and her husband rang Mollie to wish her a happy birthday. Darren, EMIL’s only child, and Mollie, EMIL’s only grandchild, have not heard from, or spoken to, her since. They have not contacted her, and she has not contacted them. At all. Except for one text message, when Mollie texted EMIL to wish her a happy Mother’s Day, and EMIL sent a text back. That’s it.

Who, in their right mind, could treat their family this way? And why would you want to? I read enough blogs to know that people are weird. Also, that people have really weird family dynamics. I should know. I don’t have any kind of relationship at all with my father and my mother is a whole other post. However, it has not been through lack of trying.

I have washed my hands of EMIL. The only time Darren and Mollie ever saw her was when I instigated it. She always rang to speak to them once a week (sometimes more), but now that has stopped completely. I have never, ever said that Darren and Mollie can’t contact her, or can’t see her. I have never said that she can’t ring them, or email them, or come and see them. Not once. It hasn’t even been implied. I have only said that I will no longer facilitate their relationships with each other.

Yesterday, I had coffee with my mother. Believe me, that would require its own post. During the conversation, the EMIL came up. My mother asked me whether or not there had been any developments. I replied that there had not. She asked me how I felt about that. I replied that it made me really sad, angry and frustrated. She suggested that maybe I should call her. She stated that perhaps it was not a great idea to socially isolate myself from her. I’m sorry? Did I hang up on EMIL? Or was it the other way around? Why is it my problem to resolve? Why is it my fault? My mother was quick to say that she wasn’t blaming me, but… Wisely, we dropped the subject.

You tell me. Seriously. Go back and read my account of what happened. I believe it’s an accurate representation. Obviously, it’s one sided, but I really believe it’s fair. Play devil’s advocate, if you wish. What could I have done differently? Keep in mind, that she is 66 years old, and I am 33. She is retired. I work full time. They moved 90 minutes away from us. There is physically nothing wrong with her. Mentally may be a different story, but that’s not for me to say! Should I have kept biting my tongue for the next 12 years of marriage? Should I have just gone along with her for the sake of keeping the peace? Is this my fault? 

The other day, Darren casually mentioned that there is a work function on tonight that he is involved in. He briefly, and I believe, evasively, outlined what it was all about and I filed it away under the ‘does not affect me’ category. He mentioned it again in a bit more detail over the weekend. It appears that there is some sort of presentation to be made to him. It was still all very casual and vague, but some part of me picked up that possibly this had some importance to him. So I asked a question: ‘Do you want me to come?’ I was answered with a sort of grunt, followed by what could have been: ‘if you want’.

This morning, he was up and about rather early. Showered, pressed and smelling lovely. It occurred to me to ask what he was up to. There were more vague references to this evening’s festivities, and a promise to be back soon. Several hours later, I rang him to see if he would be coming home for lunch. He replied that he would be home very shortly, and yes please, he would like something to eat. About an hour and a half later he rocked up. So far, no fuming. This is all fine. I am on holidays. I have child-minding responsibilities to fulfil and he is free to fart about ad infinitum.

Around 4pm, he started making noises about ‘getting ready’ for whatever is happening. He showered (again), painstakingly ironed his clothes and polished his shoes, and was about ready to go. I asked if he still wanted me to attend, and if so, what time? He replied that he would ring me. I asked what I should wear, and he replied: ‘not jeans’ (jeans are my standard, non-work uniform). Off he went.

It is now 6:15pm. He is not here. I have not had a phone call. I am dressed up to the nines (well, for me, anyway) and it would appear that I have nowhere to go. Meanwhile, a friend who I expected would be at this do rang me. Naturally, I asked her why she wasn’t at the gig. She replied that she is not going. After some questioning, it was revealed that her partner (my husband’s colleague) has pissed her off no end, and she is no longer attending said function. It is her way of protesting against his treatment of her. ‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘partners are not invited’.

Interesting.

Do I care about this function? No. Is it important to Darren? Apparently to some extent. Does he want me to be there? WHO THE FUCK KNOWS? That, friends, is why I am fuming. 

Something beginning with ‘f’: for FUCKED UP.

Guess what arrived in the mail today? A birthday present for Mollie. Her birthday was last Thursday. Guess who sent said birthday present? Go on, guess! 

If you said EMIL, give yourself a gold star. What is her problem?

Mollie sent the Evil Mother In Law (EMIL) a text just now, asking what was happening on Saturday. Mollie was fully aware of all the emails that were flying around.

EMIL texted her and said she was really sorry, but she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make it. Hello? Today is Wednesday. The birthday celebrations are on Saturday. Must be something badly wrong! So Mollie texted back along the lines of oh, that’s a shame, hope you feel better, what a coincidence! And got no reply.

I rang EMIL, who told me she was feeling very upset and quite unable to drive. I asked what the problem was, and she began to tell me that she doesn’t like the way I speak to her and was ’sick to death’ of all the driving she’s had to do lately. I pointed out that the only times she’s been to Cessnock recently have been for funerals (there have been two since last October), and she made some sarcastic remark. Then, she hung up on me! I phoned her back, and she hung up on me again! The great balls-less FIL wouldn’t answer the text I sent him either!

So, I went to Mollie, who is in bed, trying to get to sleep, anticipating the big 11, which occurs tomorrow, with all this shit going on. I hugged her and apologised. I explained to her that I didn’t mean for her to be more hurt by my actions. I thought carefully before I confronted the old cow in the first place. I was angry, but I didn’t say anything uncontrolled. I guess it’s all just blown up in my face.

The precious child, old and wise beyond her years, told me that it was ok. It wasn’t my fault, it was EMIL’s. She said ‘I understand what you were trying to do and this is not your fault’. Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.

Darling girl, mummy should have kept her big old pie hole shut. I’m so sorry that this has happened. I hope with all my heart that this doesn’t ruin your very special day. I honestly believed I was doing the right thing, but I should have bitten my tongue. All I’ve done has been to make things worse.

Note to self: Next time, SHUT THE FUCK UP! 

Around about 12 years ago, I met my beloved. Shortly thereafter, I had the pleasure of meeting his parents. I doubt if his mother and I have ever had an honest conversation. Too painful.

I don’t know how she feels about me. Care factor? Zero. Not interested. She walks the walk, and is quite convincing, but given my depth of feeling towards her, I doubt if there’s any genuine affection for me on her part. That’s fine. We don’t have to like each other. So why pretend?

Folks, this woman has pissed me off more times than I can count. In so many different ways. There was the time she accused me of child abuse. There were all the times I invited her to something on Darren or Mollie’s behalf and she rejected them, but wouldn’t tell them, would tell me, so that I had to break the news to them. The times that she has hurt Mollie, and I’ve been the one to cop it.

Darren and Mollie choose not to confront this woman. There is a good reason for this. She has a vicious tongue. Even her humour is hurtful. She is intolerant. Towards everybody. She hates Asians, Muslims, Aboriginals, Homosexuals, Catholics, Politicians, Americans. That’s her problem. She hates. She is bitter, and twisted. There is no joy inside of her. None. The precious moments she spends with her only child and her only grandchild are often wasted as she picks at them, criticizing and condemning them until they are silent with hurt. She is incapable of positivity. She sees only the negative. She looks for the negative, and if that’s what you look for, that’s what you find.

Next week is Mollie’s birthday. All she wanted was a picnic with both sets of grandparents, mum, dad and one friend. Here is an extract of the email I received this morning, from Darren’s mother:

Mollie said the party is now at Lake Macquarie not Cessnock, if this is right, we will only come and see her and give her the present, as 6 hours travel in a car is too long for JB and the drive back after 4 hours in the car is a lot extra for me too. Sorry about this, but we can still come up early that day to give her the present or go back to another weekend in Cessnock that suits you all. Judy

Lake Mac is half an hour from Cessnock. They have to drive one hour to Cessnock, half an hour to the lake, half an hour back, then another hour home. That makes it 3 hours, not 6. Additionally, if it was that much of a drama, they could stay overnight, as they have been invited to do, but declined. They are in their 60’s, not their 90’s. This is not the first incident of such a slap in the face.

On reading this, I fired off a quick, ‘ok, no worries, we’ll have another talk about it and let you know’. Then took myself quietly off to my room to fume in solitude. Then thought about it some more. Then got angrier. And angrier. 12 years of anger and pain went round and round my little brain. I came out of my room. I mentioned the email to Darren, and was asked ‘what did you expect?’ This hurt too.

Mollie isn’t here at the moment, so she doesn’t know about it. When I tell her, which I will have to, because she won’t, she’ll be angry and hurt too. And she will take it out on me. Which is natural.

So I sat down and composed an honest email. I took my time. I read and re-read it. Then I hit ’send’. Fuck it. Fuck her. 12 years is a long time. 

Yes, you. I have a serious case of blog envy. Some of you have hundreds, no thousands of readers. Some of you have dozens of people commenting on your sites. I read. I comment. I am a good little blogger. But I still haven’t cracked a measly 1000 readers!

Do I suck that badly? Am I that boring? I know, I know. It’s not about the numbers. It’s not about the subscribers. God knows it’s not about the bling. Not getting any of that either!!!!

To those of you dear readers who do come and visit me, I value and appreciate you a great deal. BUT I NEED MORE! More, I tell you. So please, those of you who ‘have’ it. How do I ‘get’ it? What is ‘it’? More importantly, WHY DO I CARE? I should just get over myself and be content to blab away about nothing. So be brutally honest. What am I doing wrong? What could I be doing differently? 

*Perhaps I could offer a bribe?* 

In the meantime, I’ll sit here and sob into my wine. Please, don’t concern yourself at all. I have suffered bigger blows to my ego. Really.

Thank you, and goodnight. 

It hasn’t always been thus. I was born and raised in Sydney, and lived there for the first 20-odd years of my life. Having lived in a somewhat less metropolitan setting for the past 10 years, I struggle when I visit the big city.

How did I do that every day? The hustle and bustle. The (dreadful) public transport system. The crowds of people, staring relentlessly ahead, studiously avoiding eye contact, earphones surgically implanted. The sheer stress. It exudes from every pore. Everybody is in a hurry. The bus drivers look at you strangely if you say ‘good morning’. It’s like a different planet down there. Not a terribly nice one.

There is no sense of personal space. People crowd you on the trains. They crowd you on the buses. They crowd you in the fucking elevator. What is with that? You’re on an elevator with 5 or 6 other people. It stops, the doors open, and more people crowd in. You shuffle back. It stops again, and still more people crowd in. What is their problem? Will there never be another lift? They can’t wait 45 seconds for the next one? Eventually, you stand at the rear of the lift, on tippy toes, with your back pressed to the wall. Then, the lift arrives at your floor and people glare at you BECAUSE YOU NEED TO GET OUT! Did they think I lived in there?

On Thursday morning, it took me about 25 minutes to go approximately 2kms on the bus. Why didn’t I walk? Because it was pissing down with rain, it was humid, and I didn’t want to be all wet and smelly when I arrived. Lo and behold, with 400 wet, smelly people on the bus, I may as well have walked. When I arrived at my destination, there was a long queue of people. There was a coffee cart located near the entrance of my building, and I commented to a colleague that a lot of people were lined up for caffeine. Alas, no. They were not lined up for caffeine. They were lined up for the elevator. I kid you not. There were 4 elevators, however 2 were out of order. Convenient, no? So there they were, lined up, down the entire length of the L-shaped foyer, out the front door, onto the footpath and all the way down to the bus stop. In the rain.

That afternoon, the sun came out. I decided a brisk walk in the fresh air would be a good thing after being cooped up in the air conditioning all day. As did every other person in the entire city. Still carrying umbrellas, because remember? it was raining that morning. And, it was Valentine’s Day. So lots of them were also carrying large bunches of flowers. Some were carrying balloons. Others were carrying boxes of long-stemmed roses. And not one of them noticed me walking along minding my own business. Because NOT FUCKING ONE OF THEM was looking where they were going. Not one. And quite a number of them deliberately smashed accidentally bumped into me.

I was slightly out of sorts when I arrived back at my motel.

It wasn’t all bad. Really. The Vietnamese rice paper rolls for lunch on Wednesday? They were good. The sizzling szechuan (I don’t know how to spell that) lamb that I had one night was also good. The $7 steak, chips and salad at the pub was very good. And I really can’t complain about the alcohol. It was in plentiful supply and helped me to keep my spirits up (so to speak).

Did I mention the trip home? I decided against travelling on the bus with my luggage, so I left it at the motel. I caught the bus to work, caught the bus back, waited 15 minutes for someone to fetch my suitcase, then lugged it over to the train station. I boarded the train at about 4.30pm. I happily read my book, occasionally glancing out the window. Laughed at the commuters stuck in traffic on the freeway. Dozed off a little. About one and a half hours later, the train pulled into Gosford. At which stage it terminated. Approximately 40 minutes south of where I wanted to be. "All out, all change. Buses replace trains between Gosford and Wyong due to trackwork". Nice. Dragged my sorry arse, with luggage, off the train. Followed the signs to the bus stop. No bus. I’m sorry, but if buses are replacing trains, SHOULD THEY NOT MEET THE FUCKING TRAIN? Or is that just me? 15 minutes later, the bus arrives. Naturally, it’s the all stations. The express will be through in half an hour, by which time I can be halfway there. What to do? Well, this bus is here. The express may never turn up! Ok. Another half hour later, we arrived at Wyong, where I had to drag my sorry arse back onto a fucking train. Sat there for another 3 or 4 stations, then finally arrived at my destination. At around 8pm. Folks, for those of you who may be mathematically challenged, that’s around three and a half hours. For a trip which normally takes two. Thanks, Cityrail. I guess those commuters on the freeway may have had the last laugh! 

Overall, it was ok. I’m back home for a week now, then heading back down next Sunday. This will continue now until the end of May, by which time I will be totally, completely over it, and the city of Sydney will be like an instrument of torture. I’ll probably never choose to set foot there again. It’s too much for this country bumpkin.

…you send your husband a text message at 10.30am asking him to buy wine, because you are CERTAIN you will need it when you get home from work.

I did, and I do. And I’m sitting here now, on my second glass, feeling mighty fine.

Note to the manager: There are eight people working in this office for a reason. That’s because there is sufficient work for eight people. Sometimes there is more than sufficient work for eight people. On Mondays, for example, there is usually enough work for 12, or even 14 people. So, when two people are scheduled to be in Sydney for the entire week for training, it’s probably not prudent to grant a third person a week’s holidays. It’s probably less prudent to then approve a flex day for a fourth person. That doesn’t even take into consideration the fact that a fifth person MAY GET SICK. And be off for two days. Never mind taking another person out of the office for half the day to attend a court hearing. LEAVING TWO PEOPLE TO DO THE WORK OF EIGHT. Guess who was one of them? That’s right, yours truly.

‘Tis no matter. It’s over now. I survived, relatively in one piece. But it does make me think that I could really use a day off tomorrow…