The bad year

So...it's been a while. Life, various mental health issues, poor decision making and other things have got in the way a bit, but I feel like I might need a little catharsis here as the last year has been a total fucking disaster.

It all started when I got moved to a brand new team at work.  At first, it was all happy.  There was me, my line manager and team lead R, and  M, who had been doing the job of the team, before we were all merged.  M, frustrated at being passed over for promotion, despite covering R's job before the team was created, soon left and was replaced by L.  So we muddled along quite happily for a bit. Then R told me he'd managed to get a promotion and was leaving the team.  R left, and was not replaced. They were always "just about to advertise it" or "writing a business case for a replacement" - in other words, too cheap to actually fill the position. A bit annoyed, I put the feelers out for a new job.  I went for a job interview with a different firm, but they took forever to get back to me and I had a few concerns. They offered me the job with a huge payrise but I was still in two minds.  Then L. told me she was pregnant and going on maternity leave.  Knowing they'd never bother to replace her, and panicking about being left to write an entire new system by myself, I accepted the other job, ignoring the many, many red flags.

The new job, well, it was a disaster.  I never should have ignored the very obvious "Don't take this job!" signs, but I put it down to anxiety.  First, the guy who interviewed me in the first place, rescheduled the interview because he "had a meeting at the scheduled time".  He later told me it was because his kid had a school play, showing a little of what was to come with his management skills.  They took forever to get back to me because of restructuring.  Part of the reason I joined was that the location was more convenient, but almost as soon as I accepted the job, they decided to close that office.

My first day in the office, I cried.  In fact, I cried every single miserable day I worked in that awful, miserable place. When I started I was assigned a buddy who read the manual to me in a robotic voice and left me to it. My manager was in meetings all day.  I had no computer, because they hadn't bothered to get one for me.  I spent the entire afternoon staring at the wall and reading the manual over and over again.  It didn't get better.  I eventually got a computer but after 6 months, still didn't have quite all the access I needed, and nobody would tell me how to go about getting that access.  I got phone calls from HR for other people.  I got mail to my home from them, addressed to other people.  The requested adjustments for my disability were ignored and I was told it was all in my head.  My colleagues barely spoke to anyone and were all miserable except when they were sucking up.  The head of the team was an insufferable arsehole and I'm pretty sure he was cheating on his wife.  The work I was given was robotic and never fully explained.  I had to do so many update meetings that I couldn't make any progress with the work, and I didn't really want to do it anymore.  My productivity dropped off a cliff.  The only thing that got me through it was that there was a lovely walk by the river where I could go and be by myself and quiet.  I went there in all weathers. It was a temporary sanctuary though, as the company was moving to a business park, far away from anything pretty.  When I started wondering whether maybe, it was better to be hit by a tram rather than spend 8 hours in that building, I decided it was time to move on.  I got in touch with the recruitment consultant who had got me the job and begged him to get me something, anything, else.  He didn't return my phone calls.  All other leads petered out.  In the end, I got in touch with someone back at the old job and asked if I could go back.  It was humiliating and embarrassing, but it was also better than the alternative of staying.  Luckily, they'd been unable to replace me and were happy to have me back.  I resigned and the new place offered me an extra £5k to stay.  I declined and at the end of March, I went back to my old job.

I'd been back in my new job exactly a day and a half when my dad was rushed to hospital.  3 weeks later, he died.  Losing him is by far the worst thing that's ever happened.   I will post in more detail about that.

I've had trouble with my mental and physical health  Juggling my medical condition, pain, the psychological damage of the whole job change meaning I second guess every decision I make now, I gained a lot of weight quickly and with that has come back problems, and a resurgence of my eating disorder in an attempt to regain some control.  I'm doing my best to reverse the damage, but it's not easy.

I've also been dealing with the MLM body-snatchers kidnapping one of my closest friend.  More about that later too.

Snow Days

It's snowing here today.  I love snow.  I never really lost that childish glee at it.  I love the hypnotic feeling of watching it fall, all those flakes, all different and unique, swirling and dancing in the air before falling and hopefully settling on the ground.  It creates a blanket making the everyday and mundane look fresh and beautiful.  I love stepping on fresh snow and the squeaky, crunching noise it makes.  I like snowball fights, and playing in the snow, making snow angels and snowmen and running inside, freezing cold for hot chocolate and spaghetti hoops on toast.  I don't care that I'm too old for it.

Sadly, I'm married to a man who becomes so grumpy when it snows that it sucks all the fun out of it. Seriously, the winter after we moved into our house, we had really deep snow.  I helped Kline clear the snow from the drive, but, apparently, I was doing it wrong.  I tried to make it fun, and threw a snowball at him and he went crazy.  We had a huge argument, and I ended up storming off to the shop furious, only to come back and find him flirting with the hot girl next door.   I've still not really forgiven him for the way he acted that day, not that I was worried about the flirting, just the way he made me feel.  Ever since then, I've never really played in the snow.  I'd hoped that we'd have children, then I could really play in the snow again.  That's not to be.

So, that leaves my lovely Scamp.  He never lets me down.  He loves the snow.  He sticks his entire face in it and plows it into piles that stay on his nose.  If I throw loosely packed snowballs at him, he frolicks and bounces and scampers.  I don't think he's any good at snowman making, but there's not really enough snow for that anyway.   Through Scamp, I've rediscovered my love for snow.

I have no idea how he ended up in rescue.  Sometimes I wonder if his old family miss him.

What on earth is happening to my face?

I'm in my mid-30s now.  And through the guidance of older friends, I have been prepared for some things.  I knew my boobs would sag a bit (I can't be the only person who looks in the mirror with my arms in the air and wonders if it would be possible to walk around like that forever), I knew I'd go grey (been happening since 16), and I knew I'd start to get a bit of a 'tache but..

Lately, I've developed a patch of thick, dark hairs sprouting from my chin.  Like whiskers.  I pluck them out and enjoy the smooth feeling of my face for about a day and then they're back again.  All dark and whiskery and old-ladyish.  What on earth?  The hair on my arms is blonde.  I don't really get too much of a moustache (nothing that a good session with Jolen won't fix), but this whiskery patch on my face, and a similar one on my neck confuses me.  Short of constantly waxing, plucking and bleaching, I don't know what else to do.  One look in the mirror and it's all clear.  5 minutes later, they're growing again.  Like some kind of ageing beanstalk.  At the top isn't a giant.  It's a rain-mate and those thick American Tan tights and orthopaedic shoes that old ladies wear.   And the goose doesn't lay golden eggs, it lays Tena Lady.

When this patch isn't sprouting whiskers, it's going to the other extreme and having spots.  At the grand old age of 34, I've had more spots in a single year than I did in my adolescence.  What's going on there?

No romance

I'll get this out there.  I'm not the kind of girl who inspires passion in men.  I'm just not.  I wish I was.  I'd love to be one of those women who has men panting after her.  Even though I'm married, and have been with Kline for over 5 years, I wish I had a band of lusty admirers, not to do anything with, you understand.  Just that after 5 years together, it's hard to remember the days when I was interesting to Kline.  Or indeed anyone really.

I mean, don't get me wrong.  I have been interesting to some men.  I have ex-boyfriends in a multitude of psychiatric units (and if they're not, some of them really should be).  I used to be really quite minxy.  But still, mentals aside, I've never inspired much more than a group of men who wanted to sleep with me, then be my friend afterwards.  I seem to be some kind of agony aunt, the type that men have sex with, then spend hours telling me about how their ex screwed them up.  I've never inspired great breast-beating passion, the type that great novels are made of.  I've never had a group of men fighting for my hand.

Here is a list of some other things that I have never inspired.

1. Nobody has ever written a song about me.
2. Nobody has ever written me poetry.
3. Nobody has ever written me love letters.  I've had dirty texts.  I've had filthy chat/msn/pm messages but nobody has ever declared their love for me on paper.  Unless you count Dylan (Duncan?) Stewart, who used to send me notes when we were 5.  He even gave me his pencil case, until my mean mum made me return it.  
4. Nobody has ever insisted I pose for some art, wearing just an expensive piece of jewellery.
5. Nobody has ever suggested we run away together.  Except perhaps the weirdo who suggested engagement ring shopping on our third date (Not Kline).

The most romantic thing that's ever happened to me was when Kline proposed to me and he did that in our living room.

Introduction

Hello.  I feel like I should introduce myself in some way.  You may call me Sasha.  I live in Scotland with my husband, who we'll call Kline and our rescue dog, Scamp.

I'll get it out there right away.  I'm not a good person.  I try to be good, I really do, but it always unravels and my bitchy side comes out or my laziness wins out or whatever.

Although this blog is called Life with Kline and Scamp, I suspect that posts about how Kline is annoying me or the dog has rolled in fox poo again will be a bit, well, limiting, so I'll be writing about other things too, because, well, I can.