According to my boss I'm managing the new boy very well (yes, that's right - a boy) - he's a bit weird and talks to himself a bit and also he's Welsh... but we are an equal opportunities employer so we can look past these kind of disabilities and treat him as an equal.
Under my expert tutiledge he's picking things up quickly, which with any luck will go some way to making my life a little easier... or at least making it as difficult as it has been all along since I now have insane targets to meet... ahhhh!!!!
On the one had I'm being praised for my patience and understanding with the new boy but on the other I'm being told I need to be more of a rotweiller to get things done... I have no idea where to start with that... I figure I'm going to go with puppy rotweiller to start with and see how my boss copes with me chewing on her best shoes and pooping on the floor...
In other news, Mr Ben and I went to a most splendid wedding (I even put a frock on) - two of my oldest friends in the world got married - finally - they've been together since we were 16 (aside from about 6 months whilst we were all at university - but no one talks about that). Vast quantities of beer and pig meat were consumed, shapes were thrown in the church of dance and my gay friends continued their efforts to turn Ben over to the dark side... I'd like to think they were fighting a losing battle... but then I'd like to think a great many things...I spent a lovely few days with Mr Ben's parents - I say lovely, what I mean is, I spent 3 days battling spiders the size of my face, unearthing terrifying gribblies from the deep and playing with sledgehammers and axes... nevertheless, his family are adorable and apparently are 'quite taken' with me... which is nice...
I also chose that few days to have a minor melt down about the whole divorce thing... it seems I haven't dealt with it at all and this has given me furiously to think and get angry and cry and think some more and cry a bit more and generally over-analyse every aspect of my life - such is my way...
Ultimately, it seems that despite being a highly trained communicator - I'm completely incabable of communicating with anyone close to me about anything even remotely negative. It occurred to me that in the whole time I was in that relationship I lost my temper twice - the first time he laughed at me and the second time it was too late to make any difference... if I'd been more forthecoming about my feelings, perhaps it would have made a difference. If I'd even once said how desperately unhappy I was or how seethingly angry I was with him before things got really bad, perhaps it would have given him the opportunity to change his ways and I wouldn't now be getting divorced and a whole bunch of people wouldn't hate me. I was and remain, horribly cowardly.
I started this blog as a form of marriage guidance, somewhere to express things that I couldn't express in a more meaningful way - and possibly get a bit of advice along the way... I failed.
Nevertheless it is done - my decree absolute should be coming through the post very soon and I need to move on.
So in an effort to make amends with the communication gods and learn from my mistakes - I have something to say:
Ben Brooks - I love you.
That is all.
Pixie Out
