Rant alert, rant alert, awooga, awooga.

Yes, I'm pissed off. Really quite dreadfully pissed off.

And what's caused my pissed-offness? Being told, by someone who should know far better, 'do try and soldier on.'

This was in response to me saying that I felt tired and weary and a bit blue.

I'm sorry, but 'soldier on.'?!? When did I ever say I was giving up? When? Never, that's when. I'm not a quitter and I don't give up (well not unless it's a REALLY difficult crossword) but jeebus, I really feel that I have a right to feel a bit fed up.

It's not quite two months since Gwyn died. (For those not in the know, Gwyn was my very very lovely stepdad - my second dad, in fact.) You don't just snap out of it. It hurts, it hurts all the time. There's someone in my life, someone very special who I'm never ever going to see again. I'm never going to hear him tell me that he thinks of me as his own daughter. I'm never going to hear him tell me that I'm special to him. I'm never going to get the chance to tell him just how much I love him. And it hurts. So much that I can't even begin to put it into words. Now, I pride myself on being fairly good at expressing myself, especially in writing, so the fact that I can't explain how I feel at the moment is frankly terrifying.

There's not a moment goes by that I don't think of Gwyn. That I don't think of my dad. That I don't wish that I could find something that would take my mum's pain away. But there's nothing I, or anyone else, can do to change things. And I find that feeling of utter helplessness is almost impossible to cope with. But cope with it, I will.

I know people are trying to help, and I don't want them to have to walk on eggshells round me, but sometimes it's really upsetting. A very good friend of mine said yesterday that I'm far too hard on myself. And she's right. I expect things of myself that I wouldn't ask of anyone else in a million years. And then berate myself for failing.

I'm rambling now, I know, but I don't care. There's far too much 'stuff' flying around in my head at the moment and it's time to get some of it out. Before I go completely bonkers.

Oh what a beautiful moooorrrning...

I wasn't at my desk this morning. I was being trained. Sadly, not to balance a ball on the tip of my nose, or even to do formation riding of tiny motorcycles, but to use an operating system that I've had for the last 3 months. Great, thanks so much for that. Excuse me while I prostrate myself at your feet with gratitude.

I realise that I do sound a completely ungrateful wench, but the company I work for pride themselves on providing training to the appropriate people at the appropriate time. So, three months ago it would have been rather useful. Having said that, it's taken weeks and weeks of ranting, whining, threatening and cajoling to get our IT support people to even admit that we need better equipment. Now it's just the small task of actually getting it. Supposedly, according to a meeting last week it would be 'within the next fortnight.' Oh look, it's a flock of pigs, wheeling majestically past the London Eye.

Still, it wasn't all a waste of time, I learned a couple of shortcuts. \o/

It's Monday, it's ten to two, it's...

time for another post.

What a start to my week, fourteen emails from a rather odd Estonian publisher, three requests for books we don't have and assorted silliness elsewhere.

In case you're wondering about the books thing, yes, I am a qualified librarian (00.4332 Licensed to Shush) and I work for an international publisher, running the digital text archive. All of which sounds tremendously exciting, until you realise it's actually just messing about with computers and copying stuff. (Yes, there's quite a bit more to it, but you get the idea here)

I'm feeling not too bad this morning, despite having sore eyes. And a sniffly nose. The weekend was fairly good, out Saturday night, meeting friends, drinking and talking a right load of rubbish (as you do.) Sunday was spent in quiet contemplation and a frenzy of sorting-out and tidying. I think sleep deprivation had quite a bit to do with it, as I'd been left traumatised the night before by my upstairs neighbour's nocturnal activities. No, I really don't want to hear them 'at it', especially as, at the crucial moment, she sounds worryingly like a Yorkshire terrier on speed. Nor do I wish you to damage my ceilings any more than they already have been - at one point I thought they would be coming through the floor. Quite literally. Eww.

TFI Friday

And how apt it is.

This week's been one I wouldn't want to repeat for all the tea in Betty's.

Thankfully, it's nearing the weekend, and I won't have to put up with it for much longer. I am sincerely hoping that next week at least contains a modicum of joy and/or fun. Though saying that, there's been the odd moment of smilingness this week, it's just that they were punctuated with huge swathes of gloom and misery. *note to self: don't even think about volunteering for the Samaritans

There's nothing hugely exciting to report at the moment, other than the fact that my stockings appear to have developed a mind of their own and are making a bid for freedom via my knees. Now there's an image to conjure with on a Friday afternoon.

As is the knowledge that Howard 'The Swan Botherer' Brown of Halifax ad fame is to record a single. As if it wasn't enough to see his grinning visage every time I walk past a branch of the Halifax, now my ears are to be assaulted as well. I'm almost angry enough to send a letter to the Daily Telegraph.

Hello!

Just a very brief post to usher in the new blog.

Ooh, I do like a nice blogging of a Wednesday afternoon. Sadly I now have to go and attend a meeting, during which I predict I will say precisely three words, one of which may be 'off'.

TTFN!