Just to continue from the last post...

my great-aunt died on 20th May, 4am - or thereabouts.

I'm just grateful that she's no longer in pain, she was so tired and she didn't really want to be here in the end. And I'm thankful that she had such a long and full life, if her knees hadn't given up on her (arthritis) I have no doubt at all she'd have been dancing still.

My brother is much better, in fact he's in France now, and from what I've been told is feeling great. Holidays do make a huge amount of difference. I think it's time I had one.

Gosh, long time no post...

Well that's because life's been too busy kicking me in the heed, to quite honest.

The last week alone has brought so much grief it's almost unbelievable. My great-aunt is in hospital, and not expected to survive the week. My brother was also admitted to hospital (a different one, and the one which treated Gwyn so badly) with severe abdominal pain. Eventually, a scan revealed that it's a gall stone, which is a relief, as it's not as serious as we feared. That said, he's still in pain while they decide what to do.

And on Tuesday it would have been Mum and Gwyn's second wedding anniversary. Talk about things coming in threes. Normally it's stuff like breaking a nail, or dropping a cup. This is just taking the proverbial.

The preceding weeks haven't been too bad, only I've got more work than you can shake a cd at, and pretty much I've got to do it on my own. Marvellous. The sweet sound of progress. Or something.

Valentines, Schmalentines

Praise the lord, Hallmark Day is here once again. And, as is the usual custom on these occasions, I am single. Again.

Whoo. I have to say that, up until this morning, I was managing to affect supreme indifference to the whole shebang. However, my hormones now have different ideas, so I've just had a mini-sob in the loo. (How terribly Bridget Jones-esque of me.)

It's better now than last year, when I was stuck in a freezing cold house in Wakefield, with a man who dumped me unceremoniously 2 months later, claiming, upon later questioning, that he'd had doubts since Valentine's Day about our suitability.

I know that, at the moment, I'm probably more susceptible to this kind of thing as I've got other things going on in my mind, that affect every part of life, but surely it's not too much to ask to meet a man who's not a lying, two-faced, scum-sucking weasel? Bitter? Me? Whatever gives you that impression?

I'm not even that bothered about not getting a card or anything, as I've never really had any. Well, apart from the one I got one year from my parents. Bless them.

Things I have learned this week.

1. If you are a balding, portly, male clerical worker in your mid to late thirties, do not buy a leather trenchcoat. It will not make you look like Neo from the Matrix. It will, however, make you look like a balding, portly, male clerical worker in your mid to late thirties wearing an ill-fitting leather trenchcoat.

2. If you are crossing the road at the corner of Waterloo Bridge and Aldwych, at least one homicidal cyclist will attempt to mow you down. Even when the little man is green.

3. If you stay at work late, the fire alarm will go off just as you're getting ready to leave. And it won't be the announcement telling you to evacuate; instead 'The Voice' will politely request that you 'remain at your workplace while the fire is being investigated.' (Note to self: if it starts getting a bit warm, ignore this voice, instead listen to the little one in your head telling you to run for the hills)

4. It doesn't take much to cheer someone up. A kind word, an unexpected hug or even saying rude words can do it.

5. My mam is one of the most amazing and incredible people I know. She is going through the most unbearably sad time, yet she still takes the time to make sure I'm ok. She is dealing with all kinds of stresses and strains, and yet she can still manage to make me laugh like a drain. She's not just my mam, she's also my best mate and I am incredibly proud of her. And when (if) I grow up, I want to be just like her.

Strictly speaking, the last two are something I've known for a while, but it's about time I actually put them into writing.

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.