Sick

Sorry for the lack of posting - I have not fallen off the face of the earth. Not literally anyway. After last week's slight disaster, I pretty much drank wine every night - not a lot, not in the same quantities as before, but still. This lessened my will to blog.

Unfortunately, it turns out karma's a bitch. Since Friday I have been a shivering, puking, wreck; I don't think it's the alcohol, I think it's a bug, but I can't help feeling that I've brought this on myself somehow. I will be back shortly, but in the meantime all I can cope with is lying in bed, with occasional breaks (for variety) lying on the bathroom floor.

On the up-side, I've lost nearly a stone in the last three days.

Today is a New Day

So, I was home early from work last night.

As I drove home, I thought to myself how I would have behaved in this situation a month ago. I would without doubt have gone to the supermarket, bought at least one bottle of wine - likely more - and gone home and finished them before Luke finished work.

I was so proud of myself, that this was all behind me, that I almost didn't notice when I parked the car at Sainsbury's. Never mind, I thought, since I was there, I'd nip in and get something for dinner. I wandered round the shop, and somehow, despite my absolute intentions and firm belief in myself, I found myself at the checkout with a bottle of wine in my hand.

By that point it seemed inevitable. And it didn't really even seem so bad - who gives up booze for a whole month anyway?

By the time Luke came home I was snoring quietly to myself on the sofa. The empty bottle was in the bin outside, and a cup of tea was cooling on the table in front of me. He felt sorry for me, being so tired, and made me dinner, despite the fact he'd been at work all day and I'd done virtually nothing. It was only at that point that the guilt started.

All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind

I work in a small accountant’s office. There’s not really much to say other than that; it’s exactly as you would imagine a small accountant’s office to be. We are nominally part of a massive firm, with offices all over the world, but in our little outpost you’d never know it.

The office is tiny; nine of us crowded together in one room. Any time anyone makes a phone call, everyone stops what they’re doing and listens, whilst conducting ever more elaborate pretences of not listening. Any time anyone gets a cold, it’s a week of total disgust for everyone else (well, me anyway) at having to deal with someone else’s germs at close quarters, before, inevitably, everyone succumbs. Euch.

Inside the office itself, it's a morgue. No happy banter, no chat at all really. Communication with any like-minded person is only achieved through surreptitious emails. This would be understandable, if everyone was working really hard, but in actual fact, as far as I can tell from my prime position in the corner of the room, nobody is doing anything.

The absolute worst thing about working here though – worse than the pale grey walls, the mountains of files on every conceivable space, worse than the lack of soap in the ladies’ loo (that’s three weeks now) and worse even than the lack of decent coffee, is the other people.
As a quick flavour, let me introduce you to the key players.

Boss Number One (B1). Pompous, self-righteous, extremely ‘busy and important’. Comes from deepest darkest Manchester but speaks with a ridiculous faux-RP accent, because he thinks it will impress people. A nice guy when you get him away from the office, but laughable in a work scenario. Panics a lot.

Boss Number Two (B2). Promoted to the same level as B1 last year, pretends that career advancement, power etc mean nothing to him. Never does any work, but farms it all out to minions (i.e. me) and then inevitably takes all the credit. Spends all day every day reading about Liverpool FC online. Gets extremely angry if he actually has to do anything work related.

Office Manager (OM). Impossible to analyse. As nice as pie to you most of the time, then cold and cutting when you least expect it. Thinks she knows more about accountancy than the accountants. Has successfully convinced herself (and B1 and B2) that the office would fall apart if she wasn’t here. She’s been on holiday. It didn’t.

Office Lothario. Same level of qualification as me, although you wouldn’t think it to listen to him. Very full of own importance; talks loudly and often about relocating to the City, where he would be fully appreciated. Wish he would. Tries it on with every office temp that comes into his orbit, and regularly has four dates in a weekend (according to him). Suspect he actually spends his weekends eating pizza and washing his socks. Not even decent eye candy, so no use at all really.

Evil Co-Worker. Cruella only started recently, but has made a huge impression. Not in a good way. Came from a large, well-known accountancy firm and thus believes herself greatly superior to all of us. Strongly suspect she left under a cloud. Frequently asks me technical questions, despite being several years more qualified than me. Pretty unpopular with everyone, although B2 thinks the sun shines out of her. The rest of us are waiting for that to change. Or for her to bugger off back to her old job.

So, you see what I have to deal with. There are more people, but that gives you a general idea. They’re not all awful – one girl, Lisa, is actually normal, and generally responsible for keeping me sane on a daily basis. She’s also brilliant at her job. Unfortunately, she’s only on a temporary contract and will be leaving in two months, as there’s not enough work to go round, now that Cruella’s been hired. Nonsensical, illogical and very, very angry-making…that’s just the way B1 and B2 roll.

I can't remember a worse time...

The first time ever was something of an anticlimax. Of course, it is for most people...the first shy fumblings in the dark can never match up to the illicit thrill we got from the real life confessions and frankly unmanageable tips in more! magazine. But my first time really was an anticlimax, because I had deprived myself of the one thing that makes all girls' first times worthwhile. I couldn't speak to my friends about it.

This was not because my friends were devout catholics, or those slightly creepy 'True Love Waits' teenagers. It wasn't because I was ashamed, or embarrassed, or I thought I'd done it wrong. It was simply because I had been telling them for over a year that I'd already done it. A family friend, I told them, helpfully living far enough away that they would never meet, but close enough that my family could conceivably go and visit his parents all the time.

What a lover he was, this 'family friend' who actually lived nowhere but in my imagination. For months I wowed my friends with stories, always tailored to my audience...the bed covered in rose petals for the romantics, the stolen bottles of champagne for the party girls, and, worst of all, the stories that make me cringe to this day - for the more curious of my friends, the intimate sexual details, all of course gleaned from the only source I had. Yes, more! magazine again.Whoever heard of a fourteen year old boy with a ten inch penis? But they lapped up my stories, and for the first time in my school career I stopped feeling like the awkward geek in the corner, and started to blossom as a cool, experienced leader.

So when it finally happened, in a cold, dark bedroom at a particularly boring party, with a slightly chubby boy from the year below me in school, I immediately thought 'Thank God that's over with'. Swiftly followed by 'Who on earth can I talk to about this?'. I can't even remember the event itself, perhaps because these things are only cemented in your mind with the retelling and the reliving. I remember sitting on his bed, having just been introduced to him by a mutual friend. He seemed as desperate to get it over with as I was. And in a sharp, slightly uncomfortable instant, it was. I remember gathering up my things and going back to the party, carrying on as if nothing of any importance had happened. That was it. My monumental step from childhood into adulthood. Less than five minutes in a grubby teenage boy's bedroom.

I had never felt cooler. Or wanted to cry more.

Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.

Sometimes I do wonder how I got to where I am. At school I was clever. I was one of those people who hid behind books; I had two close friends, but everyone else pretty much left me alone. Which was how I liked it.

Then I got into fifth year and everything changed - suddenly, in true Hollywood style, my brace came off, my boobs grew and my legs got longer. These Hollywood films all have their roots somewhere near fact, you know. My friends and I started getting invited to parties, and I discovered boys. Actually, that's not quite true - I had had plenty of nights crying into my pillow over unrequited crushes prior to that. Better to say that that's when boys discovered me. And boy, did I let them discover me.

By the time I went to university, three years later, I had all but lost touch with my girl friends. I had a succession of boyfriends, one after the other, sometimes overlapping - a pattern that continued right up until I met Luke. I'd love to say that I was a serial monogamist, a la Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and a Funeral, but...er...well, that wouldn't exactly be true. If you get my drift.

I did a lot of things I wasn't proud of, but hey, I was at university! You're supposed to do stupid things then, right? It's all part of the learning curve. And I was having a brilliant time. Parties every night, dressing up, drinking, dancing...I was living the high life and loving every minute of it. Until one afternoon in my third year, when I was making a just-out-of-bed-but-must-go-to-lecture cup of coffee and accidentally smashed the mug.

I started crying, and found I couldn't stop for three days.

My then boyfriend, Adam, was very supportive - or so he thought - arranging for me to see my doctor, taking me to counselling sessions. The problem is, that didn't help because there was nothing wrong with me. I knew that, but they couldn't see it. So I didn't take the pills the doctor prescribed, and I started bunking the counselling. I got fed up of the 'pressure' I felt that I was under from Adam, and leapt headfirst into bed with a guy from my course, Lee. Somehow I managed to see both of them for a while, but eventually Adam had enough, and I moved out of his flat and in with the new guy. I honestly felt like I had turned a corner.

Needless to say, I hadn't. Lee and I didn't live together for long, although we carried on seeing each other for 3 years. I needed my space, or so I told myself, and moved into a tiny little apartment, a studio really. This gave me freedom I had never had before, and I think that's when I started really drinking seriously - before, it had always been with friends. Now, I actively chose to drink alone. More frighteningly, once I was drunk, I would go out into town - always alone, pretending I was with friends if anyone asked. More than once I ended up going home with strangers. Then the next morning, I would wake up, feel guilty, have a shower and then run to the security of Lee's flat for a couple of days to get over the fear.

It's no surprise that during this period I lost touch with all my friends, other than Lee and his mates, and one close girlfriend, Lara, who was just so stubborn and persistent I couldn't get rid of her. I didn't care though - that just gave me more time to sit on my own in my studio apartment and watch television, which was all I could really be bothered to do most of the time. If you know any guy who would put up with that kind of behaviour, then I'm telling you now - he deserves a medal. Lee was amazing, so much so that I didn't realise there was an problem until I walked in on him in bed with his flatmate.

Now, thinking back, I'm amazed that the sight didn't send me spiralling completely. But bizarrely, I think it woke me up a little. Also, I was completely broke by that point, and without him to rely on for loans, I was effectively forced to stop drinking. I sat in the apartment for three weeks and actually managed to do some studying for the first time in ages; I became even more of a hermit, but at least I was being constructive. Eventually though Lara decided she had had enough of my cloistered lifestyle, and dragged me out to a bar, where we reckoned we had enough cash for one drink each before going home.

Funny how life works, because that's the night I met Luke. And everything changed.

Always bring your own sunshine

Some things that make me happy:

• The first cup of tea in the morning
• The last afternoon of work before a holiday
• The first night in clean sheets
• White wine in the sunshine
• Red wine by the fire
• 24 Season 7, starting soon...

Enough organization, enough lists and we think we can control the uncontrollable

So here goes, the new Bee for 2009. As a rule I hate New Year's Resolutions - and almost never stick to them - but what the hey, here are mine...

1. No alcohol for the whole of January. For me, it's a biggie. I was drinking an obscene amount last year - at five foot three, you can't really justify a whole bottle of wine every evening before your husband even gets home from work. And there's only so many times he will accept overcooked pasta for dinner, or accept that the reason you're slurring your words is that you're tired.

2. Stay in touch with old friends. I'm rubbish at it. Sometimes, I think that maybe I'm just a monster - I don't need other people like most people seem to, and I'm perfectly happy on my own. Other times, I just wish there was someone I could have a chat with. The odd thing is that even in the midst of that loneliness, I would still refuse to pick up the phone when friends rang. Or when my mum rang. Or when anyone rang, really, I just couldn't be bothered. Hardly anyone rings any more, but I am sure I can change. And one of the ways I'm going to do that is...

3. Be open to new things. Probably the cheesiest cliché on my list. But as well as ignoring old friends, I have been hiding from new ones. I used to be part of a huge gang - now I rarely go out. When colleagues suggest beers I make excuses, preferring to go home and drink wine in front of the television. When we're invited out for dinners, or away for weekends, I feign sickness to avoid going. I never used to be shy, and I want to do something about it before I become a total hermit, my husband leaves me and I end up in a smelly flat with six cats and a bottle of whisky for company. It can't be hard. I just have to start saying yes.

And finally...

4. Stop living in a pig sty. About six months ago, Luke (my husband) and I moved house. We moved from a tiny shoe box to an enormous palace that we can't really afford, but Lu was determined that it would improve our quality of life and make us happier. Unfortunately, until this weekend, it has only made me feel guilty. Boxes still waiting to be unpacked, washing up lying in the sink for weeks on end, newspapers, cds and clothes creating a new landscape everywhere you looked. It was so bad I couldn't face doing anything about it. But this weekend...I have turned a corner. The kitchen gleams. Almost all the clothes are washed, and the floors are hoovered. I am a veritable domestic goddess. I hope it lasts...

The world belongs to the energetic

A new year, a new start.

For what seems like the whole of the last year I have been hiding under a cloud. Constantly exhausted, grumpy, mean. A year spent alienating people, even my best friends. A year drinking alone in front of the television. A year slipping from showering every day, to honestly believing that one shower during the working week was acceptable. And then only if my hair was noticeably greasy.

This has to stop. And it seems only fitting that today, at the beginning of the most depressing month of the year, when the January blues hit and everyone goes back to work, the change starts.