Drained

For once I am inspired to write, but my energy levels are not complying. It's my ridiculously busy time of year, and today was my first full work day in my office in over two weeks. I've been flitting about, rushing here and there, and once at home doing the same thing until Bossy Boots goes to sleep at 8-8.30pm every night. Wah, wah, wah.

This is a bit of a waste of a post, as it's largely going to consist of me moaning about shit, sorry. I am apparently just about ready to start my period you'll be pleased to know, which means I am in total insane snappy lady mode much to The Dude's immense and all-consuming joy.

My first pet peeve may seem random - mail order brides. Ok, that probably isn't very PC anymore, but I'm sorry, that's what they are. You can call it what you want, it's still buying a woman and trapping her in a life of domesticity and breeding so your nasty old ass can bang some young hot thing. In exchange, she gets to live in England, and...and...something. I am pretty confident that I live in the mail order bride capital of England, as I see mail order brides and their crusty husbands on most days.

I'm sure these women left dreadful lives behind, but they come to the UK and endure endentured servitude for the privilege of residing in the UK. Is it worth it? The Dude's family, acquainted with men who have bought women, see it from a very live and let live perspective. They view it as saving a poor soul who would otherwise be living in a shanty town, occasionally gathering rubbish to trade in for a few cents. Here, they get the glory of living in a council flat with some old bloke who couldn't find a woman to marry without cash exchanging hands. Bliss!

2) Men who grab or scratch their junk in my presence. Dude, I would balk at my husband doing that when we're hanging out at home watching The Office - do not DARE stand in front of my desk and adjust yourself. I do not want to think of your twig and berries at all, and I certainly don't need to be reminded that they sometimes itch or need shifted. For some reason, Middle Eastern students do this all the time and I so want to kick them out of the office. However, at the heart of things I'm just a dainty little mouse and would fear the confrontation. Shame, since I could do with out the junk shaking.

3) Sidewalk hogs. I get that you want to walk alongside your friends, but if someone is trying to run or walk by you, get out the way! Three of you do not need to walk next to each other at all times so that I must pick up my child and walk into the street to bypass you. Also, if I am running toward you, please, just walk single file for a moment so I am again not forced into the street. Not too long ago I shouted at some old dears for not budging an inch when I tried to run by them. Gone was that reserve mentioned in number 2 - it must have been period time then as well. Stupid old cows.

4) The constant assault on working MOTHERS by the media. Working parents are not a problem, just a mother. I know this subject only affects a smattering of you, but I'm blogging about it when I get my brain and energy back, so prepare yourselves. Or as I typed originally, "yourselfs". See what I mean?

5) Loud talkers. Shut the fuck up - no one cares about what you're saying nearly as much as you do. There is a person in a position of power at work who barges in our quiet, constructive office and announces her arrival like she's on some red carpet. Get over yourself.

6) Periods. Harbingers of doom. Signifier of barren wombs and bad attitudes. Cramps. Crying because your husband decides to do us all a favour and go grocery shopping before he collects you from work rather than after when he knows you'll be tired. No, not grateful tears, angry tears because you wanted to pick out your own hummus.

7) The evil age of 3 - P is hilarious, amazing, and clever. However, the tantrums and smart assery of this age, jesus chrysler it's hard work. This kid, after being reprimanded for being dreadful, says things like, "I've had a horrible day because you and Daddy were cross with me" and "I don't like you very much right now Mum, and I don't want to be your friend because you shout at me." We are only cross with her when she deserves it, and I am not a shouter unless she's running onto oncoming traffic. This is not to mention the screaming, dear god, the SCREAMING. Four is good, right? Right?

8) The sun. It's autumn in England (actually, is it officially?) but the sun shines every damn day and it's still 20 degrees Celcius. Every day. You could roast a chicken on a spit in my stupid office and it's insufferable. Unlike my Cheese Wife, I cannot tolerate the sun. I hate the thing. Give me a cloudy and cold day over a sunny hot one any day of the week. Lordy, I am so goth.

Phew. I feel better now. Apologies for the absolute rambling nature of this post. Once my head is back I'll try to do a post good and proper. I think. Maybe.