Another CBA Day

I started out my day today with ‘Sail’ by AWOLNATION gently waking me up. At 5.30am. As if Sail can gently wake anyone up. Listen to it if you get the chance. It was one of the songs we picked for our wedding video. Strange choice but it worked out very well.

Sail is a bloody good song. I love the dark beat. I love any dark beat actually. I can get lost in it especially if its loud. Moreover, I love music, of most sorts, though I’m not a fan of grunge or electronica. One of my favourite songs is ‘I Believe in a Thing Called Love’ by The Darkness. Lots of people think they’re shit, but I don’t and neither do millions of their fans. I think they’re cool and when I played table football with Justin Hawkins (yeah! That’s right! I’ve met him…face to face…tête-à-tête! I know, I know, that means head to head – French was never my forte *snigger*) he said I ‘have a nice rack’. He said other stuff too, but him telling me I have nice tits, despite them being covered up by a rather modest black top (a maternity top in fact, now I recall it) stands out quite nicely in my mind. I’ll accept any compliment, me. So, yeah, IBIATCL – one of my faves. I also played air guitar to it, on my knees, on my wedding day, in my wedding dress. There is video evidence. Of this, I am proud. When I am 80? Not so much.

5.30am. I hit snooze.

5.39am. I hit snooze again. Why Apple sets their alarms for 9 minute intervals I do not know.

5:45am. I got up because I couldn’t be arsed to wait.

Yup. CBA day again. Great. Felt irritated.

Showered, dressed, brushed teeth, dragged brush through hair, blow-dried hair, spritzed perfume (very nice perfume, so nice I can’t remember it’s name) over self and went downstairs leaving lazy husband in bed to sleep, and/or get up when he felt like it.

Bastard.

Further irritated me.

What irritated me even more was that he lets me sleep in some days, more than I let him anyway, and I felt bad for feeling irritated that he wasn’t getting up. *sigh* It is his day off. Its only fair I do the school run.

I’m downstairs. Kids Children, all three of them, have had breakfast, two of them are ready for school, one hasn’t yet reached school age yet. Two older ones need to clean their teeth. The eldest is on his iPod Touch. The middle child needs her hair sorting out – she’s always a sodding mess. Our maid has sorted out their lunches for them, but I need to check that she has put the right things in – I never can be too sure that they aren’t going to get something weird like a butternut squash, or frozen corn on the cob, you know, not the usual sandwich or wrap for lunch. Training, I need to do more training.

We need to leave the villa at 6.40am to make sure we get through to morning traffic. At 6.30, daddy comes downstairs. Its a nice surprise…for the children. I’m non-plussed. I thought he was staying in bed after all.

Kids in car, we leave the youngest behind with the maid.

Dammit, I said kids. Nevermind I’ll have to succumb to it. Its quicker and easier/

7am – children (ah-ha!) delivered to relevant classrooms. Not that they’re classrooms really. Their school is an old compound. It was never meant to be a school. Their classrooms are old villas that people used to live in. The air-con regularly breaks down, the water stops running properly…I could go on. But guess what? CBA. I will one day, when I’m out of this mood, this all consuming, ice like grip.

We get home eventually, at around 7.30am and I collapse onto the sofa, exhausted already.

I know what some of my problem is. I don’t eat properly. I never have and am unlikely to ever get into the habit of eating three wholesome, healthy meals a day. I rarely eat breakfast, though I make sure the kids do. If I do eat lunch, its not much. Dinner, sometimes I eat LOADS, sometimes not much at all. I’m just not all that interested, though when I do eat I really enjoy what I’m eating. I’m not anorexic, bullemic, or have any other kind of problem with food. It does make me weak though, and tiredness isn’t helped by a lack of energy, isn’t helped by a lack of food.

I rest my head on my husband’s lap for half an hour before dragging my sorry ass back upstairs to do my make-up so I can go to work. Make-up done, my husband takes me to work. I can drive, but he needs to car to pick up the kids at 1.30pm. We start talking about stuff; his career and where its going mainly. When I say ‘we’ talk, mainly I listen. I’m in no mood to talk. He notices. He’s been noticing I’m quiet a lot of the time. He’s been noticing I’m not ‘me’ just recently. Best friends notice this stuff. I know he is worried. He continues talking about his altered plans for his career path and it just makes me cry. I feel so guilty and this is why.

In August I left a bloody good job, a highly paid job, because I could not cope with the office politics anymore. I was already on a downward spiral at the time, not that I spoke to anyone about it, but I organised a new job and decided to do that instead. So, I still work, just not earning the kind of money I did then. I now earn two thirds less than what I did in August. I’m not talking a couple of hundred dollars less…I’m talking a couple of thousand dollars less. The day before I left the job, my Boss asked me to go back – I said I’d consider it, which I did. I sent an email to him, said I’d go back. Then the email reply came – budget cuts meant there was no longer any space for me. Fine – no problem. My original decision was correct. I didn’t have a problem with that. But I cannot bear the guilt of knowing that our financial situation could be so much different had I have stayed where I was. My husband was now making career path changes which reflected our financial situation and boy, do I feel bad about it. I couldn’t stop the tears, but I also couldn’t tell him why.

It’s not just the money. I can’t put my finger on why I feel so sad recently. There’s a lot more to it though and I think, over time, it will start to come out.

Lord knows it needs to, because I can’t hold onto it like this for much longer.

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