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Warning. Self indulgent post.

I’ve had a bad day. If you don’t like self pity then leave now. Still here? You’ve been warned. Also if you work with me – in the nicest possible way please just go and do something else right now, don’t read this shit.

It started last night. An argument with him indoors about the unfeasibility of various new things I’m trying out including my writing a book made me realise that I’m being a deluded idiot. I’m following a dream that will lead precisely nowhere. I realise now that what I need to do, must do is just learn about acceptance. Acceptance of what I have and of what I do. Otherwise life will be very trying indeed.

In the same way I have to accept that I’ll never be able to go a whole week without a glass of wine (unless I’m up the duff which I’m not, but getting pregnant doesn’t feel like a sensible way to stave off alcoholism) and that I’m never to going to go running on the hateful treadmill, I’m never going to do anything other than what I currently do. That is to say the mad dash out of the house to get to work, the work day that becomes increasingly anxious the nearer to 5.30pm it gets as I realise that I have to leave On Time. That when I do leave I might miss my train and if that happens then I’ll be late which means the kids are over tired, the nanny gets over paid and I am over it all. The husband who is treated to the short sharp edge of my temper and my friends and family who are neglected.

Everyone in my life deserves more than they currently get. My kids, my husband, my friends, my family and my colleagues. I’m doing a shit job on all fronts right now. I deserve more of me than I get.

I went on a course recently for work and one of the things I was taught was to take time each day to reflect. Just sit and ponder on what has happened that day, how it made you feel and what you can learn from it. I don’t get time to do that and actually if I did (and I probably could make time) I’m not sure I’d have the energy that it would surely require. It just feels like hard work.

Whilst I’m in this rather dismal, self indulgent place I’ll probably take a few days off the blog. Not that that’ll be a great disappointment to anyone really (except maybe my Dad who’ll probably be worried – don’t be I’m fine). But I don’t want to be miserable. I want this blog to be a happy account for my girls to read one day and I’m afraid I’m no good at bottling it up, it has to be written somewhere so I’ll write it somewhere else. A diary perhaps, a good old paper diary. There’s a thought.

I have to say though that at the end of this shitty day, when I cycled up the road to my house thinking about the tired children that would be awaiting me (I was late, so they were bound to be wired) it was those same children who kept me cycling up the hill. And Eliza came to my rescue tonight when I put her to bed. There were no protests, no calls for another story or tears, she just said:

“Mummy. I really really love you.”

Nothing else matters really does it?

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