It might be that time of the month again but OMG!!! I can’t take it anymore.

I hate chasing people. I hate following-up items that responsible people should and would chase on their own.

I hate emailing one-liner that starts with “Just checking if…” of “Please FUP…”

Can you really blame me if in my mind, I sometimes read FUP as f*cked-up?!

I HATE time-wasters.

Yes, hate is such a strong word. But seriously, if you’re already busy & stressed, why does the rest of humanity seem to think it’s your job to make sure they do the right thing?

You’d think I’m dealing with teenagers but these are professionals! And no it’s not only at work. Goodness. That’s what frustrates me more.

In Sassy Lawyer’s recent blog entry she mentioned Anne Widdecombe & I said that I sometimes catch this retired MP on BBC’s “Angry Old Women”. I chanced upon it the other night. Wouldn’t it be great to rant about anything and everything, big and small? The fact that you get to vent is enough, to actually be paid is a bonus.

I loved that they ranted about the SAHMs and the working mums. The seeming competitive streaks of the SAHMs to prove they’re not dull and that they made the right choice. The guilt and frustration of the “career women”. All the guests agreed women were fools to believe in “having it all”. Well, that sucks…

Thank God I could blog & moan to my heart’s content.

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Half-way through drafting this entry, I found physical evidence it IS that time of the month.

I hate PMS. I don’t know why & curses(!) to those who will say “google it” but I don’t know why I’ve only started feeling the effect of this phenomenon.

Isn’t it enough I battle with the D?

I’ve been feeling so angry and frustrated lately. I felt ugly & unwanted, utterly useless & lazy. Stupid, moronic, idiotic. I called myself names & I was  questioning my intentions & actions. I was paranoid. Should I smile? Am I smiling? Is it obvious I’m mad? Why am I mad? Am I mad? Do I want sex? Why don’t I like sex?

Shit, shit, shit, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck… muttering, mumbling, thinking it.

Sometimes I win, but this week I lost. It’s a shitty way to live, feeling like a phony.

Life, right now I’m giving you the finger!

Elizabeth Wurtzel quotes… I hesitate to read “Prozac Nation”, I’m scared. It’s like opening up my coat for everyone to see my sores…

Hemingway has his classic moment in “The Sun Also Rises” when someone asks Mike Campbell how he went bankrupt. All he can say is, “Gradually, then suddenly.” That’s how depression hits. You wake up one morning, afraid that you’re gonna live.

“I start to feel like I can’t maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don’t know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?… I don’t know the answer, I know only that I can’t. I don’t want any more vicissitudes, I don’t want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I’ve had it. I am so tired. I am twenty and I am already exhausted.”

I was supposed to blog a few months ago about my recent golfer’s elbow surgery - complete with pictures! But things happened… and fast forward I’m undergoing physical therapy to regain strength & flexibility on my right arm and hopefully, cure the pain & persistent discomfort.

The physio is antipodean, about a 5 inches shorter than I but likeable enough. I’m generally not squeamish especially with health professionals. But because this guy’s job mean touching me every week, you do feel uneasy.

The last 3 sessions were okay. He showed me some stretching exercises. But today after massaging my arm, which was the only touching he’s ever done, he said he’s going to work on the muscles around my neck. Then… asked me to take my top off.

Excuse me?

He said, “take your top off I need to get around the muscle around that and the spine”

Oh my blushes!!

I acted casually & we continued chatting. He was telling me about him doing the Christmas shopping online instead of buying them instore etc. Then he finished and told me to… lie on my back… EEEECCKK!!

Excuse me?

He said, “I need to massage the pectoral area”

I thought, pectorals… goodness those are my breasts he’s talking about!

He continued chatting casually to me but I could only muster uh-huhs. I think I was subsconsciously trying to feel if any of his fingers will wander off off to the moutain regions. They didn’t and the ordeal finally ended.

I made it sound so sleazy but it wasn’t actually. I just wasn’t comfortable being massaged & half-naked in front of a virtual stranger. Na-de-virginize tuloy ako. Teka salita ba yun?

Last week pogiBoy told me one of his classmates wants to come with us to see the Snowman. I told him it’s okay as long as the boy’s parents say yes. Aba e di naman ako seryoso, ni wala pa nga kaming ticket for the Snowman, but still I humoured my son.

Friday, hubby says he saw the boy talking to pogiBoy and pointing to him. Immediately hubby knew what that was about.

When I arrived home, pogiBoy was so excited. He tried to sound casual when he said “Lemar’s dad said yes”.

Ayan nalintikan na. . I know I shouldn’t make a promise I cannot keep. So I just told him, we don’t have tickets yet but if we do buy them & classes are still in session we will talk to Lemar’s parents.

Then I dug deeper hole for myself by asking, what does Lemar look like. He couldn’t describe the boy. Sabi ko na lang, puti ba, itim o pana? Siempre sa ingles dahil di pa marunong mag-Tagalog si pogiBoy.

Naku he said I said a bad word. Bakit kako?

Aba e di daw ako dapat nagsasabi nang “itim na bata“. Pinipigil nang asawa ko yung hagikgik nya dahil di ko ngayon malaman sasabihin ko at paano ko ii-eksplika na wala naman akong masamang ibig sabihin.

To cut the story short, I told him some people are offended & he is right to be careful in using that word to describe others. But I said I only wanted to know who Lemar is. Turns out the boy is the tallest in class & has curly hairs. Asus!

I asked him who told him it was bad. He says he just knows… hmmm.

Halfway through our meeting, bossing’s mobile rang. In the middle of the dev manager’s spiel, bossing picked up the phone & interrupted the meeting.

I was wondering if I could do that. In fact, if any of us middle management can. I doubt it. Such is life, in practice the rules do not apply to all.

After the call, which was sufficiently long and jovial, bossing said while giggling that it was his daughter & she was excited their school had a power failure & thus she was going home.

har har har

Then he went on that in his daughter’s school they have a credit-card-like method of paying for their meal (!) and that she once spent £150 (!) for a week’s worth of school dinner (!) — that’s Brit for lunch. Of course, they told the girl not to spend so much on food but her response was they want her to eat properly.

har har har sabay tumbling

Hayy the longer I work in London, the more I am faced with how different my life really is to all these Westerners. Yes, not all Brits can afford to send their kids to a private school & that having a card limit of over £150 for school dinners is not a common thing. BUT, my my my.

I can hardly afford to spend more than £5 for my lunch & I make efforts to limit my monthly allowance. I am a working class no matter how far my career goes. I don’t own the company. I don’t dictate my hours. And I certainly cannot interrupt management meetings for casual chats with my family.

I’m not sure if I blogged about it before, but there was this lady I used to work with & she moved here from Paris. Her husband’s a banker & she said it was very tough for her moving & settling in. She lamented how difficult it was to find the right (private) school, the nannies, the cleaners… She was telling me this thinking I could relate. Well, I guess yes, but in a (much) smaller scale. It was tough because my husband’s nurse wage isn’t enough. It was tough because we had to share accommodations until we could afford a house deposit. It was tough because our combined income’s very stretched with the private nursery & house let alone be able to afford a house cleaner!

While we continued on with the meeting I sat there with bossing’s children in mind. I mean how much do you think they get for an allowance? How much is their family budget? They live along Regent’s Park, you know.

Me, I live in East London. Gritty, real, pulsating & sometimes unstable. The streets are often dirty & because the fascist party BNP won a seat in the council, I’m always aware that in our area, there are a lot of closet racists.

I love my neighbourhood though. The people around us are nice. We have one or two troublemakers but they’re just a nuisance more than anything else. pogiBoy goes to a really good public school, Praise God! He’s well-liked by schoolmates, teachers, and parents. Our Pinoy friends are blooming.

But sometimes I can’t help entertaining thoughts of living somewhere much nicer. Where the streets will be clean, the views will be grand, the house cleans itself. Will I need to own my company to get there?

I hope not. We’re hoping to get there in afew years’ time. For now, austerity daw.

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If you’re not familiar with Lito Lapid & his most famous character, google it.

Same old excuse… Busy, too tired, too lazy… Whatever. The point is I’ve neglected my hobby. I do wish someone could invent a way to have those dictate-machine to convert entries to word processors.

There are so many things happening around me that I do want to talk or rant about. Like the fascit party BNP leader’s appearance in Question Time. Or why I am again looking around for work.

But heck, I’ve been itching to blog about my life.

My teammate is gone & is now on maternity leave. Even before she left I have been mulling over the idea of having another child. I’m in my early 30’s. I’m probably the only one in my family that can have another child. And pogiBoy’s been asking for a baby since before he turned 4 and he’s now 5!

It was disappointing to see hubby struggle with the idea. He wanted to be keen & pretended to want the same, but I know & I can feel that he’s not convinced. In the bedroom, he didn’t show his hesitation. He almost fooled me, I was suddenly scared to get pregnant & we’ve not really discussed the future logistics yet.

A few days after, bang! The pretence started to unravel. Hubby became irritable, sullen, withdrawn… AY NAKU! PWEDE BA?!

Our first 3-years as parents started replaying in my head. Sorry, but OMG! I can’t go through that anymore. I cannot possibly sustain a more demanding job, being a parent  to a schoolage boy, and an anchor for a flailing husband.

Di bale nang maging solong anak si pogiBoy.

I told hubby to stop pretending & enough with the illusion he’s trying to paint for me. I wouldn’t want a pet if it means I’m going to lose my mind again. Does he think I’d want to destroy my figure again?! However I may look now, I still prefer this than what it was 4-years ago.

I already have peace-of-mind, I got my groove back, my pogiBoy is independent. Honestly, I ask, is becoming broody worth having all those taken away?

It’s sad though. All these money concerns, which is really the main reason why hubby hesitates, they will never go away. That’s the joke. It’s always been the case even before pogiBoy came to being.

I don’t really know what the difference is & how he cannot see why I find his reaction ridiculous.

On a semi-positive note…

I was freaking out the other night. I wanted to rip someone’s head off & unfortunately, I was at home. I don’t remember if this episode was related to the offspring-craving.

Anyway, I was mean to my boys.

Later on I apologized to pogiBoy. After the hug I asked him if he can forgive me.

What he said made me cry.

“But mum, I have already forgiven you.”

Truly unconditional. I hope I can be a better mum to my only child.

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image: http://www.stockvault.net/