Moving On

Good morning. It is morning, right?
I don’t know what is going on during the hours I’m supposed to be sleeping but I sleep the sleep of the dead and wake up feeling just as shattered. My colleague calls it adrenal fatigue, my husband and I call it stress, my aunt calls it being a basket-case.
This morning I just know it’s emotional exhaustion. I went to bed feeling weak and small and a bit soggy from crying after a week of looking at the situation from every angle. Even before the tears, Monkeyface asked me “are you a bit sad mummy?”
To which I replied “a little bit darling but it doesn’t matter because you make me happy?” (There followed an intermission for panic and concern worrying that she would grow up as another only child feeling responsible for her mother’s happiness.. Nooooo)

After months of struggle doing a job I’m made for, in a team I love with my heart and soul, to whom I owe my present state, yesterday I decided to resign. The environment in which I work however means that the workload is heavy and fast. It’s a juggernaught. I’m not seeing the daughter I struggled to conceive and the lion’s share has fallen to my husband who has his own stretching role plus a 90 mile round trip commute. (Whenever I think of what he juggles I think I think I’m Fred Astaire to his Ginger Rogers – everything I do, he does. Except backwards and in high heels.)
And so. I’ve been offered a less frantic role back in Financial services, with a better work life balance but which will leave behind the direction I’ve been working in for the last few years. But it importantly offers a new dynamic and I can use my skills in a different arena: I’ll get to see Monkeyface, work better hours and have a more fulfilled family life. A life. I hope this is good news for my life and, of course of course, it’s all me me me, I hope this is good news for the blog.
Less moaning about worklifebalance, more reading with Monkeyface.

As a metaphor for not being sufficiently focused on one thing, I’ve got more than one book on the go at the moment. Never a good sign. It never bodes well for the book to actually get read.
Bossypants by Tina Fey.
I was looking for another How To Be A Woman by Caitlin Moran. Probably should just have read that again. This is funny and entertaining but there aren’t any funny stories about growing up in the Midlands, spending your adult nights during menstruation cycles sleeping on beachtowels and struggling about in uncomfortable womens shoes. Good but not as good as Caitlin.

Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
Woah, deep. Funny I’m reading a tale about a young man who had so much offered only for him to stuff it all up. You can’t read anything into the timing of reading this epic. It’s a book group choice. Not mine. If you haven’t read Dickens, read him. This is a more accessible novel than you would first imagine. I’m reading it on kindle app for iPhone because despite having powered myself on cake for 24 months, I have arms like Fatima Whitbread. I don’t need to be lugging about Great Expectations. I’ll be instructing daughter to read this just as soon as she’s got the alphabet down. Followed by How To Be A Woman.

A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness
I love Patrick Ness and this won the Carnegie. Quite different style from the Chais Walking trilogy but he’s so inventive. I read him and I’m instantly jealous I didn’t write it.


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