Or rather a screw in the tyre.
Working away this week so after a rather pleasant evening out and my last office visit imminent I disposed of my attire and bags in the car boot. Just as my colleague and I were about to leave I noticed a rather dumpy tyre. Not to worry, I do have the air pump so as it was a short drive to the office I’d do the necessary there.
Fast forward, I’m now sittingying in a rather unusual tyre repair centre. When I say unusual, it is pretty standard in so many respects; lots of overall wearing men of varying ages, lots of grease on faces, a dusty drinks machine, seating area. No what is unusual is the service. It’s good. I mean as a woman I detest taking my car to anywhere motor related. My opinion is I will be treated as an idiot or ripped off. Rightly or wrongly, past experience has taught/ scared me to think and feel this way. But for some reason my concerns have been wiped away, unlike the dust on the drinks machine.
The welcome from one employee, even as I entered the rather dodgy one way only looking entrance, to the reception chappy was, well, friendly, welcoming and altogether unexpected.
Even when they answer the telephone they seem to genuinely appreciate the opportunity to help. Perhaps my mindset is the thing that needs to change from this experience. I always presume I’m quite an open minded individual. Is this showing me I’m not?
Only thing wrong with the entire experience, loo roll was the wrong way around.
Maybe I need to change.
Bloody hell, what is Broadchurch trying to do to me!
I admit I have watched this whirlwind of a TV drama in a haphazard fashion. Started in series two, back and started series one whilst still watching two and now fully fledged addict on series three.
The show, the actors, the tension, the frenetic ebb of anger and energy – and that’s just the characters played by the wonderful Olivia Coleman and David Tennant.
I wonder if because I can’t binge watch, the apparently old fashioned cliffhanger keeps me aghast and yearning for more or just the mighty scripts and incredible acting, who knows, who cares. I’m caught in its grip – it’s stronghold – it’s spell.
Long may this show, these people, this type of TV show remain as it makes the long Monday after full and frantic weekends just that little bit less of a drag and far more willing to go forth and continue with the week ahead.
*Warning – lots of self-deprecation coming*
Another business trip to London today. Up at 4am, was quite awake actually, although the vibration from the phone alarm clock startled the crap out of my partner.
My thoughts weren’t so much about today as they were about the god awful weekend; drunk, rowing, sober, rowing, trying to mend bridges, not mending bridges but almost completely trashing a relationship. That’s the condensed version. The expanded is even worse and I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been on my partner. The gnawing, sick growl in the pit of my stomach and flashbacks tell me all I need to know about how awful it was.
I don’t know why I do it. There seems to be an overwhelming desire to me to completely destroy everything around me or to do such despicable things to justify my hatred and angst. Both of those being aimed solely at me. I hate myself then I project that onto others, namely my partner.
I’m too afraid to return to the GP. Afraid I will be turned away as a hypochondriac. Someone seeking attention (the LAST thing I want). My brain takes me in a myriad of directions from self-loathing to Ooo, I could paint the wall ombre style and back along suicidal lane. But the one true constant is I feel guilt. All the time. Guilt for feeling good (that led to a couple or more glasses of wine), then guilt for feeling bad (after the wine), then guilt that I’m not a good or even nice person because I’m a bitch after wine. Guilt, guilt and more bloody guilt.
Sat on the train heading home from London. Good day but anxiety and guilt laden nonetheless; did I prepare enough, was the team who came with me unhappy with my presentation, should I have waited for 2 plus hours for the train instead of getting into a panic attack and buying another ticket so I could be in the safety of my own home! I mean for pity’s sake!
I was asked once at the mental health meeting, did I ever hear voices. No was the honest answer as the context is always that unless it’s a voice of an entity other than you, it’s your own inner monologue – and that’s just fine. Only it isn’t. When you’re own inner voice is loud and quite irritatingly proud in your head saying, “you’re sooooo awful and everyone is sooooooo much better off without you” it’s paralysing and hypnotic.
I’d not come across Mark Rylance until I saw the film Bridge of Spies. In truth, I’m an awfully lacking film buff except for those who contain actors of whom I’m fond.
I’ve not seen Wolf Hall, which some say made him a household name. My relationship began with BFG. And not because of the story. Because of his voice.
He has just the most beautiful voice. Comforting. Warm. But exceptionally powerful to me at least. It makes me want to listen. To me, that is power. It both relaxes and commands simultaneously.
I felt compelled to note this as I’d just seen another Dunkirk film trailer. That and I’m sure my memory is becoming worse.
Old age eh? Clearly working working for some, just not me.
It’s been a helluva year hasn’t it? Trump is President elect, UK voted to leave the EU, the world of music and entertainment have lost the most incredible people; Lemmy, David Bowie being the two that make me most sad.
There have been major highlights for me though. I saw AC/DC – albeit with Axl instead of Brian but it was an awesome weekend in London. The atmosphere was incredible and considering Axl’s previous form (online scathing reviews) he was bloody amazing!
I moved house. Stressful but we’re here and making it our own. My fiancé and I started new jobs and my teenage Son started a new school to complete his A levels. In all, it’s been a rollercoaster year for emotions.
After seeing a post on LinkedIn earlier today about Suicide, basically asking for people to put forward their experiences, I’ve been in contact with the post originator. WTH am I doing? I know when I talk about things I get emotional so why am I doing this?
I guess, I need to. I’ve allowed myself this cage for a great deal of my life. Disabled my voice so that others aren’t uncomfortable whilst burning up inside with pain and torturing myself more because of the accompanying guilt for reaching out. I cannot do that any longer. I’ve got one life, even if that seems like based on what I’ve just written, I wasn’t that concerned about but hear me…. I am. I’m still here. Regardless of what has gone before. Regardless of how I felt or was overlooked, ignored, shamed, taunted.
I will go on in 2017 because no matter how bad you feel the time has been before now, the fact you can still reflect, means your pushing forward, pushing through. So farewell(ish) to 2016 and hello 2017. I welcome the rollercoaster, even if I’m still afraid of the height….