Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Sunday, 22 May 2016

King's Cross

This morning I woke to a dream in which I came out as a cross-dresser at University at the end of my first year (clearly not possible, I was dating my first girlfriend at the time and she would hardly have been supportive). I imagined how much better life would have been had I done so, maybe even joining the LGBT (they had added the T in my first year) society (they would add a Q the year I went to train to teach). I might even have met someone who was into that sort of thing, who knows, and had a relationship that better approximated what I was like at the time. Unlikely, I know, but this was a dream after all.

A public face of happiness was only just managed.

Harry has spotted that I am not in a good place and
I very nearly told Carla just how deep the rabbit-hole
goes, but I am a coward, so I didn't.

Besides, telling people as a teacher that you are
depressed and a bit broken is not a path to job security
or even toward actually fixing any of the issues.

We all know that they aren't work based.
A thawing perhaps? Difficult to say. The week gone has been a rocky one with much going on and much of it propelled by my own inability to actually do anything. A year group was leaving, for the last time, and they showered my colleagues with thoughtful cards and so forth. You may have guessed already that they did not do so with me. Indeed, on the last occasions with three groups I had massive absence from the students, who were preparing for last sessions with other teachers. One reaps what one sows and I have not been at my best this last academic year - starting with the spiral in September and not really recovering since. I ought to have expected this. Still, I navigated getting samples sorted, weathered Harry gaining rave reviews (okay, no, that was good for them) and supported Alice getting home early to see the new child a few nights properly rather than having it all needlessly rushed. I hope, in that regard at least, I am a nice enough boss. Not completely nice, you understand, just nice enough.

She looks happier than Tilly did.

Either on Thursday or Friday.
On Thursday Tilly and I spent an evening together. I have recently taught the Boy chess, and he has taught it to his sister and everyone has been playing it. Out of nowhere, Tilly asked for a game of chess, I didn't need telling twice. However, on the evening in question she spent a number of hours sorting things out on the sofa, liberally strewn with work stuff and crochet so that I couldn't sit next to her. We eventually played, three times, and the final time I don't mind admitting was a bit of a turn on. She played aggressively and well, winning the game. I shared my thoughts on the matter and she agreed to snuggle but no more. We ended up having the Boy in bed and she and I snuggled to one side but she was rapidly uncomfortable and it lasted a whole five minutes before she moved over and snuggled the Boy instead. This was the evening after some of the events described above.

The following evening I inquired as to playing chess again, and maybe more, Tilly shot down the maybe-more aspect and we snatched a game (which she won rather convincingly) in amongst her work. Friday had been a bit shit at work too. I had hoped to get loads done but, instead, I was treated to about three hours where I had to avoid my room. A student, the one I've mentioned before, was using me as a listening post. It is depressing, because it is not going well for this student, and, frankly, I'm not qualified enough to support them. I do it because a) I am flattered to be chosen but mainly b) because no one else is available - professionally or otherwise - because funding has been cut and there are no therapists and the support team in Sixth Form is over-worked, under-funded and dealing with too many crises already. I did what I could and I avoided the room apart from that, making working difficult as my excuses required much wandering about. In all of this one of my classes started getting worried about some marked work (they don't need it now and it would actually be a bad thing for them to have, long story, until later) but my professionalism was impugned and done politely, nicely - anger wasn't an option. More... disappointment. So, yeah, a Friday evening of being fit into Tilly's hectic schedule was interesting to say the least.

Famously Germaine Greer
reviewed this book entirely on the
basis of this front cover - which the
author did not choose and changed
the next chance they got.

However, apart from the age of the
child, that sums up Friday night.
I went to bed at the same time as Tilly but after nipping to the loo returned to the bedroom to find she'd brought the Boy in again. Between us. She talked book and Twitter before falling asleep.

Saturday was a normal Saturday for once. The Boy and I went shopping, much to his chagrin, and then had a MacDonald's (because we know how to live). Tilly saw us cross a road without using the crossing and was a little annoyed and upset. I did my autistic thing of not really getting why - we were safe and the crossing was carefully judged.  I got a haircut, Tilly did not comment on it for good or ill, still hasn't. I'll admit, that stings. I make a point of being complimentary about changes in her clothing, hair and so forth. I guess I am a two, not the three I see myself as (she's about a nine). This follows earlier in the week when I finally got round to tidying my beard and face - that has also had no comment for good or ill passed, nor is it likely to. I digress.

That evening she watched a DVD she'd ordered and encouraged me to go to the pub. Which I did, and enjoyed it, returning to join her watching the DVD and then heading to bed. She was doing exercises for her back, the use of the hotwater bottle and the bringing down of a duvet prevented sitting together on the sofa beforehand, and then fell asleep without much conversation.

How I imagine I appear to Tilly.
Today I was to take the Girlie swimming, you can perhaps see where this is going, and we ended up having to come back because the pool had been unexpectedly shut for an hour. We joined Tilly and the Boy going to the park. The Girlie shared we had crossed our road without the crossing and Tilly exploded. I wasn't respecting her wishes and had agreed to her very specific requests when we had gone out. I must stress that it is a Sunday and that there is next to no traffic on our road apart from the odd bus. She would have preferred me to have the nerve to say I wasn't going to do as she had asked, to say that I didn't want to do as she wished. She thought that we had agreed that I would always use crossings with the children and that we had talked it over a great deal. Throughout this tirade I didn't say anything, I just kept my brow furrowed and set my jaw. I'm not claiming this was a good idea, by the way, just supplying the context for what happened next. She wound herself up, fully exploded, started crying and declared she was going home. Both children started getting worried, I assured them it was fine, and Tilly responded "It isn't bloody fine!" and then walked with us to continue her tirade.

Yeah, I am that clueless.

Though, apparently, none of this is down to Anxiety. That is
never shared.

Except, of course, when it is.

I recently was told that the reason I was never left
anything to do with the children when Tilly was away was
that she was scared stiff we'd all die in a car-crash without
her - I was allowed to ferry the Boy back and forth back in
November, what more do I want?
She would have had greater respect for me, she said, if I had the nerve to say what she had requested was stupid. Fine, said I (now angry and making my own atrocious decisions), it was stupid. This just riled her up further and she kept ranting. I noted key changes to the language, I had now, apparently, called her stupid (I had done no such thing and said as much, I was ignored). Throughout it all the Girlie was happy. One of her big bugbears in the last week is being told off for interrupting Tilly and I talking, now she had the ability to interrupt whenever she wanted and stop Tilly talking to me, one happy Girlie. A frosty session at the park followed. Tilly asked why I hadn't said I wasn't doing what she asked before I left, I pointed out what had happened and said I was trying to avoid that. Tilly accepted that there would have been much discussion, not all of it positive, but that she would have probably come around to my way of thinking eventually. I didn't add, perhaps I should have done, that it was inappropriate to have an hour's discussion before taking our daughter swimming.

We came home, had lunch, and then I took the Girlie to the swimming baths. We had a decent time. She can swim underwater well now and treads water like a pro. I taught her to dive for a bit (scissor jump and sitting dive) and then she went on the big slide a few times. Tilly was working on our return and then made tea, which was nice.

No caption necessary.
I'm still a bit shell-shocked by the whole affair, if I'm honest. I suspect I am being a bit unreasonable on some level but I fail to see why we have to use the crossings on our street on a Sunday (or most days actually) as it's not really that busy at all. I use the crossings on main roads and in town because, well, it's busy and it makes sense. I think our road must have been really busy at one time in the past, it doesn't seem so now, and that's why we have two crossings on it (though both owe much to the flow of human traffic to the fair in the autumn, so perhaps that is the reason).

Anyway, deadlines approach and Tilly is now rushing to keep up. As soon as this one passes it's into the next book (recent articles have prevented her writing that) and potentially more articles. She's already planned the spending of any monies earned on a wood-burner, redecorating the dining room and living room and re-roofing the back of the house.

So I'm confused. She clearly wanted to spend time together with me. But not too much? Oh, I don't know.


  1. Whilst she may be a "nine" outwardly, she seems to be a two deep inside, with the emotional maturity of a 14-year-old. You are worried that you might be unreasonable on occasion, yet her periods of reason are commended due to their scarcity.

    I cannot imagine how (or why) you tolerate your status quo.

    With tough love,

    1. Thank you. Tough love received, understood, and accepted for what it is. Thank you.

      I have much reflection on this, but that is perhaps better served by another post.

      Thank you.



All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!