You won’t have heard from me lately because I am having a bit of a hard time expressing myself at the minute. I feel a bit congested, emotionally and mentally. (Definitely not physically: I’ve had food poisoning for 10 days. Who needs a detox when you’ve got a gut parasite? :D)
I suspect this ‘congestion’ is all down to the pesky problem of ‘the future’. The husband-unit and I are making plans to emigrate in August for three years so that he can pursue his PhD. The bother about it is that we’re all gung-ho with the whole packing up and shipping out malarkey, but nobody’s replying to my job applications in The New Country. Bit worrying, as that’s our proposed prospective source of income. Nothing doing in the whole prison chaplaincy realm. The joys of secretarial work await. Or maybe something I’ve never thought of?
Anyway, I am constantly living in ‘the future’. I defo need to learn the art of living in the now, as the future remains a constant source of worry and anxiety for me, and it never ceases to be just around the corner. It’s always cloudy, covered by a veil, and due to my need to control everything (not to mention profound inability to do so), I’m all neurotic and wound up. That’s probably why I am a magnet for every infection going. (I swear, anxiety makes you all moist and dark – the perfect breeding ground for bacteria.)
So I haven’t been to work in a while because, as I say, I’ve not been well. Being sick when I’m supposed to be at work leaves me feeling unreasonably guilty. (Whoah, when you write it all down, this is quite the turd-box of negative emotions.) But when I have been there it has been challenging and busy. And unbelievably, my time as a manager there is almost over. One month from now I rejoin the dole queue. I have mixed feelings about this. And a thesis to write. And a house to pack up. Ye gads!
Otherwise, I continue to cherish secret ambitions of becoming a mysterious nightclub jazz singer, and I forge ahead in the elusive hunt for the perfect cook-book. (It’s not the Hairy Dieters by the way – I don’t know what I was thinking buying that book. Their tagline is “How to Love Food and Lose Weight” but it ought to be “How to Develop a Complex Around Cooking with Real Food”. Avoid.) As well as buying a new cook-book I also completed my second masters degree and I suppose that now makes me a qualified chaplain, right? Champagne anyone? Today I also managed to shower and leave the house. Such a swathe of achievements man has not hitherto witnessed! I eagerly anticipate my episode of This is Your Life. (Do they still make that show?)
As I write, the husband unit is pacing the house, shouting out things about Catholic social teaching as he goes up and down the stairs. Not because he cares (and certainly not because I do) but because he is in fully-fledged final examination mode. I do not miss those days. He claims that his brain is sore. That is so typical of a theologian: any scientist will scramble over dead foetuses to inform you that the brain has no nerves and therefore cannot feel pain. Stupid idiot theists with their sky-fairy! WHY DOESN’T HE JUST GO EAT SOME MAGIC WAFERS!!