, LSaturday, June 21, 2008
For Mashed get Smashed
Where to start?
You know most of the four-part harmony to this but I have been fairly quiet for a while, so to recap: I am involved in an on-going court case – can't discuss details.
Homophobic puss of a rancid nether meat.
I had a really shitty couple of days, Thursday and Friday and just as we were heading for a resolution, the whole thing was adjourned 'til July. I now have to go back to work on Monday with the vile accusations and character assassinations of my colleagues, ringing in my ears. I am in a limbo and although I am not primarily based in the same office as the people I was in court with, I have various meetings to attend, essential for my job, that they will also be required to attend. I am unable to focus on anything else. I just want someone to hit me over the head with a shovel and send me to sleep until the rehearing. I am so close to cracking and saying, 'fine, you win; I can't take on a corporation; I am too weak."
I met my solicitor and barrister, for the first time, in the foyer on Thursday morning. I was just musing to myself, that I should have had a Guardian under one arm and a red carnation, when I remembered that I was in a bright purple wheelchair! Not many of those to the pound. (bad analogy; the pound's nigh on extinct and I'm a dinosaur.)
Thursday was such a rubbish day: my witness and cross examination, that it trashed Pingu, my friend, who had agreed to come along to turn the pages of the file for me. Pingu is a crazy, pot-throwing, paint-hurling, creative type, unused to office or court-type environments and the full-on day was too much for her. We left home at 7.30am and got back at 6.40pm. Her partner phoned me at 8.30pm to say, "You've killed Pingu." I tried to get a replacement page-turner but gave up at 10.30pm and went to bed.
Fortunately, sleeping is one of the things that I do best.
After the calamity that was Friday, I found myself trying not to cry. I was an hour from my pick-up time, miles from home, sans Pingu; trying to get a coffee; not cry; negotiate the 'not-quite-thought-it-through' dropped curbs and not cry. A woman saw me struggling and stopped wiping the tables at Starbucks, crossed the road, helped me to a table, brought me a coffee and spoke so pleasantly, with no ulterior motive or trickery, that I almost experienced an emotion. (refer to para 3 subsection ii in your bundle; headed "When I was dumped"…"you wouldn't know a real emotion, if it slapped you in the face.")
I got home to a big buff envelope, embossed with the company logo and strap-line. Slapped across the bottom of the near-side, was a fluorescent sticker, championing,"A Fair Deal for a Flexible Workforce." It was an HR document, detailing a new TUPE proposal for all green book employees. I didn't have the energy to laugh. The contents are irrelevant but the sound-byte is priceless.
I spent the majority of the evening on the phone with, 'She who shall not…' (Oh, yes; that's all still very much unresolved. I'm an emotional cripple and should learn to take my own advice!) Talking's great but I just wanted a hug.
My brother came over and helped me to consume vast quantities of alcohol, in a bitter/cider/curry combo. Mmm, my breath is ripe this morning.
I dreamed I was in a dock, facing the Queen of Hearts, who was shrieking, "Collar that Dormouse, behead that Dormouse turn that Dormouse out of court. Suppress him! Pinch him! Off with his whiskers! ..." It's a quote from an Alice in Wonderland play that I was in, when I was 12!
I'm dreading Monday.
Currently listening:
Freeborn John: The Story of John Lilburne-The Leader of the Levellers
By Rev Hammer
Best wishes KB.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
I get knackered and lethargic more quickly, these days.
JFM&J, how old does that sound? See how I’m taking up swearing; after a life of expletive abstinence, it’s quite difficult.
I’ve got a mate, G, visiting for Easter. I’m quite excited about that; we go back, donkeys’ years.
I have found that progressively, I can’t play or sing my stuff. I had kind of stopped writing or even really listening to live music. The other week, I wrote a peculiarly, out of character song; a naked and vulnerable unashamed love song all about, ’She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named,’. I haven’t seen or been scene much of late so it’s about 2 years in the making. Lol. Writing it was quite cathartic and I was able to revisit some of the emotions and experiences of the time! Ho-hum, moving swiftly .. a while, reworking and twiddling, I became terribly lonely and miserable and sent a cry to my mate C. (Cheers, honey. x) We got totally dispatched and she persuaded me to have a go at my new song. H came round and started to play it. It was a bit weird, trying to explain how to sing and play my own post-orgasmic experience to H; a good mate but not, that kind of mate! Today she popped in with a sheet-hot version of my song on disc. I’m stoked, choked and generally over-excited. Thanks to 2 beautiful, generous women who have re-kindled my passion for music; rocked me out of my lull and set me a challenge. You know who you are and I love you. If anyone can make it to T' Borough Footie Club on March 22nd, I’m hoping to sing my song with one of the headlining artists. (All local, female musicians.) We’ll see how it goes. I’m really chuffed - have I already mentioned that?
Best wishes KB.
