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, 26 November 2017


Apparently the smell of a woman, in Google images, is only
smelled by the women themselves. Bit like all perfume adverts
in that regard. I get the distinct impression that smell adverts
are only aimed at the people that wear them...
Further experimentation has suggested that Tilly can't actually smell the sort of female products that I am now using. Some careful testing and asking has yielded the admission that, for the moment, Tilly cannot smell me at all. I am now free from being smelled on approach. It is interesting though that this olfactory camouflage has been created and maintained by using female body spray and deodourant. It does rather suggest that the initial assertion that I smelled bad is based largely on the fact that I did not smell like a female using feminine body products. I have bought a second body spray, because any new obsession must be pursued to dangerous levels, and neither is noticed by Tilly nor, as far as I can tell, by anyone else. Make of this what you will. I like the smell, so fuck it.

Good beer line up.

Another interesting aspect of the evening out (and the
subsequent day) is just how concerned Gerry is with masculinity.
Way more than me. And he is very concerned that his boy
children are boys. To the point that he will deliberately and
ferociously destroy any sign that they are not typical males.

As in stereotypically male. His wife is keen to help.
This weekend also produced a meet-up with a friend of mine. Gerry and his family came down from where we used to live to see us. On the Friday Gerry and I went out to see the pubs of the local place that thinks it's a city (and, technically, it is but... still) and had a chat whilst out-and-about. Turns out that I am not totally alone, another person we both know (better friends with Gerry than I) is currently going month or months without copulation compared to my occasional years. Gerry was amazed by the statistics. Given as he is to over-exaggeration it is hard to know for sure what was bluster and what was reality but I can reasonably certain that his bare patches are measured in weeks rather than months and years and that he has no issues on the sex-side of things. I guess the only surprising thing is the month or months comment - by which he seemed to mean that our mutual acquaintance (well, his friend) had gone months (plural) without sex on one occasion and sometimes only once a month. The chance would, as always, be a fine thing.

That would be the burden of being the
house project manager who keeps the
list of what needs to be done and by
whom as well as taking the lion's share
of the jobs that need to be done.

I don't argue its existence.
Tilly has also started getting into my comments on the Invisible Burden faced by women and, this weekend after being told that I was seeking therapy, has really gone to town on that. References to my work and her work not being seen as equal despite the fact that they really ought to be, how the housework is often her responsibility and I don't really do equal amounts nor equal times and how that is just normal. She has also been delving into "our" use of language (by which, as always, she means 'your' - in this case: 'my') and how it perpetuates that stereotype about women in the house and the housewife role. Ostensibly because it is interesting but, I rather suspect, connected to the revelation that I was seeking therapy. It's also been accompanied with her telling me that she has distanced herself because listening to me talking about how crap I am, not that she's saying I've done this recently you understand, without any hope of reciprocation means that it's not terribly fair on her. So she can offer advice on which therapist to go to or what to say to them but she has no desire to talk about the issues. As long as I bear in mind that it's my issues that they can comment on. The unspoken part of that being that she doesn't expect me to talk about her. I haven't been terribly clear on why I am feeling as I am this time. So there's that element too. Also, twice this week since telling her, Tilly has suggested that I was about to moot divorce based on my tone. I suspect a small amount of projection and not a little fear.

I have so fucking many of these in such a
short time. And only three missing cards
from my old collection (or so). It's...

Well, it's pointless is what it is. A way for
rich privileged white folk to be richer and
whiter and more privileged.
I have told someone at work, in strictest confidence, about my current mental state. I have also got three responses to my fire-hose-like sprinkler-based queries about therapy. And so I have an appointment on Tuesday. £60 up front for an initial session. £1 a minute. Seems a bit steep. Mind you, my research suggests that's the going rate these days for an initial session, so I guess I have to invest a bit. I have some money left over from examining still so that's not too bad (and I've spent over £100 on Magic Cards too, so I really did rather well with the examining this year).

As ever, marking brings me down. Unlike last year I haven't been able to power through it as much and I am struggling not get rather sarcastic and mean with written commentary. That's why I told someone in authority at work about my situation, they need to know if only to protect the students I teach. I am well aware that I am emotionally raw at the moment and that my standard emotions are anger, resentment, sarcasm and guilt-inducement. I'm pretty good with students at the last one, and I do tend to use that to keep order. The thought that I am struggling to pull back from full emotional blackmail and destruction with some of the rudeness and laziness I come into contact with is... well, it causes me disquiet. I am usually good at the balance and getting what I want, here I may inadvertently destroy people.

Speaks for itself.
That said, I have another student that has sought me out to blow off steam too. I really must work on being less approachable, it's actually pretty soul-destroying as my school is rather shit at dealing with teenagers who are close to suicide or suffering mentally with issues that can't be solved with extra revision sessions or aren't connected to examination stress. Nothing changes in that regard, my own school years were marked by that too. I had a long chat once with my Form Tutor about my parents' divorce and how I felt about things - looking back it was patently obvious that I was suffering from depression. We didn't get anywhere. I was very good at talking myself around people's objections until they, too, threw up their hands and agreed with me that, yes, it was very sad but that there was nothing to be done about it. Yay fatalism. Shoulds and oughts abound in my life, I'm good at them even when my interactions with my best friend that created the Universe suggests that They aren't terribly bothered about those aspects of things (not on an individual level). However, all sin stinks equally to High Heaven, mustn't lose sight of that one.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Wednesday, 22 November 2017


It occurs to me, having tried to write queries to four therapists this evening, that I haven't a clue how to actually make a query of a therapist.

I may have rambled. I shall be amazed if any of them make any kind of return contact and quite expect to be reported to some agency or other or else find my e-mail address reported to some register or other. I knew I should have set up a new e-mail account just for the therapy. Hrm.

So, yeah, how does one send a query to a therapist without sounding like a complete [insert suitably sweary word here - I still can't find anything potent enough]? Failing that, some advice on what and how to ask for things so I don't get reported to the Police as a stalker would be lovely too.

I don't even know what I'm asking about.

I mean, I nodded and acted like I understood, but I have no clue what 'issues in myself' and 'problems with my marriage' mean nor which is which when looking at myself. I have no idea what the 'body-image issues' I have are, let alone how to ask a therapist whether they can help with them. Much less what I'm actually expecting them to do.

Here's the other reason I am no good with therapy, I assume that people have to actually have a clear-ish idea what they're aiming to achieve with therapy and I haven't a sodding clue.

Sunday, 12 November 2017

Like an Alien chest-burst

Several things all at once!

Like... yeah, the chance would be a fine thing.

Maybe that's it though. One of the other things running
through my mind of late is the thought that, well, maybe I
just don't want to have sex with Tilly any more.

Let's face it, it's not as if I change anything by such a course
of action beyond standing less chance of being so upset by the
lack of it and, furthermore, I never get anything from us doing
it anyway.
In a party round our house around Hallowe'en (I know) we had other parents and their children round. One of them, I shall call them Vee, is also wondering if they are autistic (I should digress a little and explain that I have been reading about autistic people on Quora and have shifted from aspie to ASD as my terminology) and she and I discuss this often. She likes my more positive take on things regarding the autism and finds it hilarious that I will talk about it forcefully. Anyway, yes, we are blunt in each other's direction and it works very well, we cannot offend one another. So it was that when she asked about having a third child, bluntly, I bluntly responded that it was not really ideal. She misunderstood. "You need to get a better hobby then! A friend of mine says she wouldn't have nearly as much sex if there were better things on the television." No offence, but my laugh was more forced than normal.

Neatly summed up methinks. The resignation and the sadness.

The worst bit is not being able to get out of bed in a morning. I
watch for the alarm time to tick over then just stare at it.

For an hour or more.

Like I say, I lack the potency of swear words to adequately
express how I feel about myself these days. I've used cunt
and piece of shit and waste of space so often that they've
kinda lost their meaning.
At work, I am struggling to get work done. Pressure piles on pressure, none of it large and none of it world-ending but all of it hard to deal with and parse. So it is that I have not marked some work for one of my sets since... ooo, before the half term. About four weeks now. And I am struggling. I have no time, it seems, to get work done in the morning. I mean, I totally do, but I am not using it at all. I know this. I am drifting, I am avoidant, and I waste time through the day watching shit on youtube. I struggle to focus, I fear the piles of paper and my room is slowly spiralling out of my control in terms of paperwork. There's also a trip to see Grayson Perry (!) and I got onto it because so much yes. Eight students organised themselves because they were up for it and I had a colleague itching to go too. But management says I cannot go. Or, rather, it's me or Alice. And Alice is mad-keen and costs the school nothing in cover and, at the end of the day, that's what the school was asking for. So, no trip and plenty of marking. Yay.

All my staff are struggling. Harry because there's so much to do and they may have some serious medical shit going down with bowels not behaving right, nor intestines (they balloon and become very firm and occasionally threaten fainting). Basically, Harry is carrying huge amounts work-wise outside the Department and is struggling to get things done (but doing it, because that's their strong suit). Alice has a new position this year outside the Department too - it's pastoral - and they are brilliant at it. Truly. However, the effort of organising the shit and getting it all to work is taking its toll and so Alice has very little time to do anything more than keep head above water on a day to day level. Finally, newb (I shall attempt a name that sticks this time and go with Stanislav), is just... well, Stan is very used to not doing a lot and is part of a new-breed of teacher. This means that there is plenty of time for them to go drinking of a weekend or evening, attend rock concerts and spend holidays abroad. Keeping head above water, yes, but has already shrugged off organising a trip last year (dirt simple, most of it is done for you) and avoids taking on anything that is outside the classroom. They have applied for a post outside the Department too. Thing is, I suspect they will get it, because they are pretty damn' good at the pastoral side of things with students that many struggle with.

Now, I can't say I agree with all of Stan's methods or interpretations of the students they are good with but the fact remains that Stan has had more commendations from parents since starting than I have had complaints (for the record, I have had twelve in four years). This means that anything I raise would be churlish in the extreme, so I don't.

0-60 in something daft like 5 seconds. I don't like that.
Still, it got me into work in time, so I can't complain.
It does all mean that there is no one to whom I can delegate anything at the moment. There was an RS trip on Thursday, for example, that I forgot about until the last minute. I drove in with my EV off ECO mode and caught air taking a ninety degree bend (going from 15mph to 45mph in the time it took to take the corner) with all the warning lights going off. I got in to school just on time and had to rely on others to run my cover for me (Harry and Stan, in case you were wondering) and I realised that I simply no longer have the swear words necessary to adequately express how I see myself.

I want to say that it suits me but for the fact that it would be
the most ridiculous thing I've said on this blog so far, so I
shan't. I shall simply say that I like the smell.

As to whether or not it stops me literally smelling of shit I
don't know. I must assume that it does something or I shall go
Also a few weeks back Tilly couldn't tell the difference between how I smelled and the shit smell that follows our middle Boy whenever he needs a poo. Basically, imagine human faeces pungent and strong, when he needs to go and has forgotten he tends to smell pretty dang bad. So, when it transpired that, no, it was me that smelled I was appalled. I applied some of Tilly's vanilla body-spray and the best I got was that the smell "wasn't as bad" from Tilly. She of the very sensitive olfactory sense. She can pick out food from miles away, smell (no really) my arrival on a work evening as I drive down the road and tell by smell which child is about to burst into a room. Through plate glass. So, yeah, I must have smelled pretty awful. And, you know, I liked the body-spray.

So I got me some. Different scent, I'm no fan of vanilla, and I've been using it in the car on the way to work. It's nice, really smells good and I quite like that it's on my shirt through the day. I have also caved and bought some roll-on deodorant (for women obviously) and I like that smell too. Obviously I do, it is the smell of women.

The playing fugue.

I am, in truth, not very good. Playing again has brought
back how often I used to lose and how often I would
burn with anger at myself for being unable to play
as well as my friends. The hopelessness and the horrid
nagging understanding that no one cared as much as I
seemed to about who won and who lost and how.
I also had a haircut, finally, this weekend. Tilly's comment on it was "does that feel better now?" And that was it. No comment on how it looked or anything. She's tired too. Having a child breastfeeding will do that. I sort of knew this was coming, I am sort of prepared this time. But it is me that is struggling to cope, not her. Indeed, look at the entries on here back when I started and it is clear that, apart from the very real PND suffered by Tilly, I was suffering from having a small child too. I do not do well with small children. Or my own children. I have joined the Boy in Magic: the Gathering cards, something remembered from my youth. I have more or less bought all the cards I used to own and a host of new ones along with furnishing him with his own. We play it. He gets very involved and, like me, is not a good loser. As evidenced when he won five times in a row last night and I felt bummed out. Mayhap I should not have bought the cards. Bad move. I suck at this. New obsession though, so plenty of reading (where my time goes) and knowledge about a niche subject that few other people give a shit about. Go me. It's never anything remotely useful.

Around the house I am struggling to keep up. I can get lunches made and pots done but not a lot else at the moment. We had decorators in and so I moved the furniture downstairs and in the Boy's bedroom so they could get to the walls and had a clear room in the living room. I slept in amongst the rammed furniture and piles of books and paper in the dining room, obviously, and put it all back when it was all done (Friday). I ran an assembly this last week too, which was nice, but hardly challenging as it was based on work I did years ago and just touched up to reflect the fact that instead of an hour I had ten minutes. Lots of staff said it was very emotional and passionate. I'll be honest, I did not feel that when presenting it. I felt rushed and tired, almost bored, ending on a particularly sour "I think I'll just leave it there" in my opinion. Don't get me wrong, praise is nice, but I do not feel as though I really earned it.