Who knows where the time goes

Sandy Denny speculated on the subject before she fell doon the stairs. I've not had any falls, but still miss large chunks of time that can't be explained by drunkenness or fugue states.

The now entrenched false consciousness allows me to spend an average 50 hrs/wk at work, leading to a compensatory need at weekends to excommunicate the phones and doze for 18 hrs in between listening to Radio 4 and reading snatches of Chat! magazine. In any remaining time I'll tend to feel bad (distractedly) about my failings as a friend, sister, daughter, mother, cook and human being, mark M.Sc. exams, ruminate on my upcoming interview in Cambridge, and try to arrange the bathroom re-fitting before it plummets into the Downstair Neighbour's through water damage and neglect. That last could constitute a substantiable complaint, even in my perception.

Luckily the world keeps turning regardless. The Big Wan's achieved 2 Bs and a high C in his Higher prelims (so far), the wee wan writes exemplary English book reviews and history homework and Her Catness is surviving Reekie and plumber intrusions with aplomb. The snowdrops came up early in Feb, crocuses now cover the Meadows and the robins are holding their own against the magpies at the arboreal dojo at work. Amazon has delivered a text on 'Change Management' for me to plagiarise for my upcoming jobbie interview, when I shall embroider actualities to tell a good story and wear a nicotine patch to prevent unscheduled boltings for fag sooks.

Choices

I'm gonnae go down to the Flatlands for an interview soon, with a heavy heart. Mebbe they'll hate me, mebbe I'll hate them; but if so at least I can sabotage myself deliberately instead of through inaction.

Despite their misgivings, even the friendies and the fambly think it deserves a clear shot. It offers the chance to recoup some of the investment I put in over 20 years in the slug world, and a prospect of pension and some future security. Mebbe I need a new start, now the work ethic's back. Kiddos are the worst of it, but they'll always be top of my priority list amongst the givens.

Peter Ballocks, RIP

Peter died yesterday in Kelso, with his son and H.etc. by his side. He hung on far longer than seemed feasible, and I sincerely hope he's in a better place now, free of pain and distress. His last conscious words, 36 hrs before, were "I'm going now, I've had enough of this". I shall miss his clever, pig-headed, stubborn, insolent, indolent Peterness.

We light a candle and wish him better, and on some other plane Peter is again his young self dressed in his biker gear, astride a large-engined British motorbike with the twinkle in his eye, gi'in' it laldy with the lassies like the wideboy he was and sticking up his fingers to authority. To Peter!