Oh for fucks sake.
Last night I got an email from Boss where he was suggesting we talk this week. I sent one back explaining that I am not able to do much other than breathe and not kill myself. Because I gave my Dad authority to talk to HR etc while I am being irrational I copied him in on this.
This has triggered him calling me ( I didnt pick up) emailing me, getting mum to email me....
I know they are concerned. but that is their problem. I feel hounded and attacked. i do not know what to do with this level of intrusion. I cannot cope with this level of extra stress every time I have an interaction.
I have sent an email to mum basically saying respect my boundaries or I will cut you off completely.
I know it is me being wierd. But I cannot cope with intrusion, being cared for, being hounded like this.
RantingScienceZebra The rantings of a bitter, twisted, sometimes crippled and rather mad scientist
Thursday, 16 April 2015
With a pink hotel, a Boutique and a swinging hotspot.
I live in Margaret Thatchers frot-fantasy.
The developement where Inky Towers rests was pushed through in the eighties just after The Maggon shot the Parker-Morris guidelines in the head. Parker-Morris set a standard for how much space should be allowed per person in a house. Ever wondered why dwellings from pre 1980 cost much more than new ones and are so much larger? That's why. When they went you got what we have now, hutches. our 3 bed semi is actually a 2 small room and a cupboard semi. The largest bedroom gives you a choice: double bed, or the ability to walk around.
The houses on our development, and there are way smaller ones with 3 beds, are sold mainly to young aspirationals. Not blue colour but pastel white. It is quiet and ha a green for them to play on.
I am the only one with a front rose garden, of course, because I love roses. Typical really, it just matures and I have to sell it. Albertine reached 12 ft by 20 ft this year.
In the mornings at 8.30 everyone, me included, gets into their car for the school run. the doors click in unison. On alternate Thursdays we put the bins out. It is the picture of ordered neighbourlyness.
It drives me potty.
Foal has now got used to me singing Malvina Reynolds greatest hit as we drive to school. It is irresistible. I just cannot stand the conformity at the same time as being drawn to its sickly addictive grasp.
Structure and system rule my life and mind. I struggle when I do not understand where I fit in. Or what the people round me are for, what they want. People lack purity of intention, due to woolly-mindedness. So this kind of conformism seems attractive. but at the same time it is all structure without benefit. they all suffer in these hobbit sized houses with their giant sized mortgages because they think they should. Something went very wrong here.
My daily shrink visits continue. Yesterday I met a trainee who I shall call Eric. Eric sat in the meeting where I was pouring out my bitterness and hurt and was clearly moved by it. I spoilt it by asking, at the end, what the hell switch flipped in his head and said "I want to be a Social Worker" but then I suppose there is no answer to that. Unless they are all on community service, or Lizard Men in deep cover.
Anyway on to last nights recipe, which was a kindacassoulet. The idea was a stovetop stew to do while foal and I were out. I included chicken breasts for foal and mrsinky but any tender meat will do, rabbit quarters or pork loin being good ones.
1 onion
3 duck legs (in suffolk even the ducks are inbred)
2 chicken breasts
4 rashers bacon
A smoked sausage of some sort, skinned.
olive oil
1 large can white beans
a good handful fresh green beans
a tray of button mushrooms
a tray of baby corn (optional)
a bouquet garni heavy on the sage
You need a heavy based pan. this is an old fashioned layered stew so respect the order. First bone your duck legs. It isnt hard, just cut down the inner thigh and circle the leg. Remove tendon but keep the bone. Tie the legs up with string into parcels.
Chop the onion and cube the bacon. fry in olive oil until the onion is dark. Add in the duck legs and brown top and bottom, then fish em out. brown the leg bowns on both sides then leave them in the pan as a lattice to form a layer at the bottom. the bottom of your pan should be dark brown here.
lay the duck legs on top of the bones. then the chicken breasts on top of that. then the white beans. then the green beans. then the mushrooms, then the bouquet garni, then the baby corn, then lastly the sausage. Pour enough weak stock or water over to just cover the duck leg layer. put a tight lid on. bring to the boil then turn right down. leave it for 2-3 hrs.
Thicken with beurre manie or cornflour, making sure to incorporate the fat which holds the flavour. traditionally this is topped with breadcrumbs then toasted. Serve with new bread or rice. It is VERY filling due to the fat. You should serve with a spoon and dig down through all layers. at 2 hrs the duck will still be parcels. at 3 it will be duckpaste, which is actually nicer.
The developement where Inky Towers rests was pushed through in the eighties just after The Maggon shot the Parker-Morris guidelines in the head. Parker-Morris set a standard for how much space should be allowed per person in a house. Ever wondered why dwellings from pre 1980 cost much more than new ones and are so much larger? That's why. When they went you got what we have now, hutches. our 3 bed semi is actually a 2 small room and a cupboard semi. The largest bedroom gives you a choice: double bed, or the ability to walk around.
The houses on our development, and there are way smaller ones with 3 beds, are sold mainly to young aspirationals. Not blue colour but pastel white. It is quiet and ha a green for them to play on.
I am the only one with a front rose garden, of course, because I love roses. Typical really, it just matures and I have to sell it. Albertine reached 12 ft by 20 ft this year.
In the mornings at 8.30 everyone, me included, gets into their car for the school run. the doors click in unison. On alternate Thursdays we put the bins out. It is the picture of ordered neighbourlyness.
It drives me potty.
Foal has now got used to me singing Malvina Reynolds greatest hit as we drive to school. It is irresistible. I just cannot stand the conformity at the same time as being drawn to its sickly addictive grasp.
Structure and system rule my life and mind. I struggle when I do not understand where I fit in. Or what the people round me are for, what they want. People lack purity of intention, due to woolly-mindedness. So this kind of conformism seems attractive. but at the same time it is all structure without benefit. they all suffer in these hobbit sized houses with their giant sized mortgages because they think they should. Something went very wrong here.
My daily shrink visits continue. Yesterday I met a trainee who I shall call Eric. Eric sat in the meeting where I was pouring out my bitterness and hurt and was clearly moved by it. I spoilt it by asking, at the end, what the hell switch flipped in his head and said "I want to be a Social Worker" but then I suppose there is no answer to that. Unless they are all on community service, or Lizard Men in deep cover.
Anyway on to last nights recipe, which was a kindacassoulet. The idea was a stovetop stew to do while foal and I were out. I included chicken breasts for foal and mrsinky but any tender meat will do, rabbit quarters or pork loin being good ones.
1 onion
3 duck legs (in suffolk even the ducks are inbred)
2 chicken breasts
4 rashers bacon
A smoked sausage of some sort, skinned.
olive oil
1 large can white beans
a good handful fresh green beans
a tray of button mushrooms
a tray of baby corn (optional)
a bouquet garni heavy on the sage
You need a heavy based pan. this is an old fashioned layered stew so respect the order. First bone your duck legs. It isnt hard, just cut down the inner thigh and circle the leg. Remove tendon but keep the bone. Tie the legs up with string into parcels.
Chop the onion and cube the bacon. fry in olive oil until the onion is dark. Add in the duck legs and brown top and bottom, then fish em out. brown the leg bowns on both sides then leave them in the pan as a lattice to form a layer at the bottom. the bottom of your pan should be dark brown here.
lay the duck legs on top of the bones. then the chicken breasts on top of that. then the white beans. then the green beans. then the mushrooms, then the bouquet garni, then the baby corn, then lastly the sausage. Pour enough weak stock or water over to just cover the duck leg layer. put a tight lid on. bring to the boil then turn right down. leave it for 2-3 hrs.
Thicken with beurre manie or cornflour, making sure to incorporate the fat which holds the flavour. traditionally this is topped with breadcrumbs then toasted. Serve with new bread or rice. It is VERY filling due to the fat. You should serve with a spoon and dig down through all layers. at 2 hrs the duck will still be parcels. at 3 it will be duckpaste, which is actually nicer.
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
Safe in my own words, learning from my own words Cruel joke,
Reason notwithstanding, the universe continues unabated.
I am running out of bottom. Actually I have a bottom the size of Brazil but I mean emotionally and lifewise.
Avid readers will remember that my wife of 11 years asked for a divorce. That was on a Saturday IIRC. I spent a few days pleading, and then another mourning. And then I thought "pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again" so I rang my boss to find out about a back to work plan.
Things at work had been strained for a very long time. He has no idea of how much shit I tidy up for him without him having to deal. Much of that shit is generated by his lack of organisation. And this is me saying it. All he sees is me not there at 9 am. I have a medical note for flexitime and I also always put in more hours than on the contract. The 9am thing matters to him because he wants to be able to pop in first thing and dump surprise work on people. For me that is very disruptive.
Anyway the upshot of the phonecall was stay off sick because you will not have a job to come back to.
So, no wife, no job.
Still living in the same house as wife, and generally things are amicable. But I am dying inside. Last night she was upset with me for reasons I didn't really understand (remember I don't do social cues so I may be in the wrong and not know it.) She has made it plain that a marriage is not going to work, not in the normal sense. I am not going into details but what she said has made me hate me so much.
Before xmas I had a job, a wife, we were trying for a baby.
Now I have...a tattoo. This process is like someone taking a knife and cutting away everything I valued or self identified as and making me loathe what remains and the mess the process makes. Every night I pray I will not wake up, that I can just die in my sleep. That undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns would be most welcome.
I go through the motions. I sent out a cv. I am thinking of getting a dog. In my idle moments I think of getting a bivvi tent and some second hand kit and just walking somewhere. anywhere.
A lifetime ago I did intensive group therapy at a place called the Red House. I then finished my PhD, got a variety of jobs, found a girl, settled down, I wanted to so I married, and I thought I was going to grow old and be happy. But it turns out that who I was was incompatible with that. So 20 years later I find myself in the same place, suicidal, alone, hurting, no job, no partner, no soul-mate, pretty soon no family. the last time this happened I was still fairly young. Rebuilding a life from nothing didn't seem such a fools errand. This time I feel like life has just finished with me. I cannot go through all that again. Back then I had friends. My marriage got rid of all of them, they are strangers to me now, with lives of their own. Here I have mrsinkys friends. And I cannot ask them to choose. It is clear when I talk to them she feels hurt so I shall stop doing that soon.
I can either accept the mixed metaphor and do a caligula against the sea of troubles, or oppose.
The psychiatrist has me on daily visits to make sure I am still breathing.
In other news last night I fainted in the bathroom. This follows a day of joint hell and a serious sublux in the swimming pool.
How many more hints do I need?
I am running out of bottom. Actually I have a bottom the size of Brazil but I mean emotionally and lifewise.
Avid readers will remember that my wife of 11 years asked for a divorce. That was on a Saturday IIRC. I spent a few days pleading, and then another mourning. And then I thought "pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again" so I rang my boss to find out about a back to work plan.
Things at work had been strained for a very long time. He has no idea of how much shit I tidy up for him without him having to deal. Much of that shit is generated by his lack of organisation. And this is me saying it. All he sees is me not there at 9 am. I have a medical note for flexitime and I also always put in more hours than on the contract. The 9am thing matters to him because he wants to be able to pop in first thing and dump surprise work on people. For me that is very disruptive.
Anyway the upshot of the phonecall was stay off sick because you will not have a job to come back to.
So, no wife, no job.
Still living in the same house as wife, and generally things are amicable. But I am dying inside. Last night she was upset with me for reasons I didn't really understand (remember I don't do social cues so I may be in the wrong and not know it.) She has made it plain that a marriage is not going to work, not in the normal sense. I am not going into details but what she said has made me hate me so much.
Before xmas I had a job, a wife, we were trying for a baby.
Now I have...a tattoo. This process is like someone taking a knife and cutting away everything I valued or self identified as and making me loathe what remains and the mess the process makes. Every night I pray I will not wake up, that I can just die in my sleep. That undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns would be most welcome.
I go through the motions. I sent out a cv. I am thinking of getting a dog. In my idle moments I think of getting a bivvi tent and some second hand kit and just walking somewhere. anywhere.
A lifetime ago I did intensive group therapy at a place called the Red House. I then finished my PhD, got a variety of jobs, found a girl, settled down, I wanted to so I married, and I thought I was going to grow old and be happy. But it turns out that who I was was incompatible with that. So 20 years later I find myself in the same place, suicidal, alone, hurting, no job, no partner, no soul-mate, pretty soon no family. the last time this happened I was still fairly young. Rebuilding a life from nothing didn't seem such a fools errand. This time I feel like life has just finished with me. I cannot go through all that again. Back then I had friends. My marriage got rid of all of them, they are strangers to me now, with lives of their own. Here I have mrsinkys friends. And I cannot ask them to choose. It is clear when I talk to them she feels hurt so I shall stop doing that soon.
I can either accept the mixed metaphor and do a caligula against the sea of troubles, or oppose.
The psychiatrist has me on daily visits to make sure I am still breathing.
In other news last night I fainted in the bathroom. This follows a day of joint hell and a serious sublux in the swimming pool.
How many more hints do I need?
Monday, 6 April 2015
Seems like only yesterday I left my mind behind...
So mrsinky has taken foal our on an easter egg hunt at Sutton Hoo.
I am not invited.
She is meeting a work colleague and his children. His kids have been through a divorce . She thinks mybe they can help foal.
I am not invited.
This chap was kicked out by his wife, and is still adjusting. She is worried seeing me will upset him.
I dont know what to think. I would like to ask him how he coped with his life being stolen. With waking one morning and finding nothing left. I think she doesnt want him to see the evidence of what she is doing.
I am back on the sofa. While I still have access.
Sunday, 5 April 2015
For those who missed this...
Got a little black book with my poems in. http://rantingsciencezebra.blogspot.com/2015/02/got-little-black-book-with-my-poems-in.html
Happy Easter
Yesterday was one of the worst of my life. My wife of 11 years asked for a divorce.
She has taken all meaning from my life. She is stealing foal from me in real terms although she wants to be fair about access. She is turning our lives out onto the scrapheap.
She says I havent done anything but she cannot stand to be with me any more.
I feel my life has now finished.
I am tidying up.
Today I am having a meal for easter we had planned snyway with the hutt and Salacious Crumb. I know it sounds weird but I want to say goodbye and show Foal normal is possible.
We did a forest floor cake.
Choc sponge :
5 eggs
5oz caster sugar
4oz sr flour
1oz cocoa powder
4oz melted dark choc.
Oven 180c
Beat eggs and sugar till fluffy and white snd stiff. Beat in melted choc then fold in dry ingredients pour into lined 9 in tin. Cook 25 mins till middle feels like efge.
Split and fill with jam.
Decorate with choc leaves. Mushrooms are split kinder eggs and flakes. Bits of lemon zest and rosemary flowers too.
Wednesday, 1 April 2015
They fuck you up...
I came down to Somerset after the shrinkage to visit my parents. Foal is on hols so came along. Mrsinky is at work.
This is so much work. My Dad is very controlling and cannot let others make their own decisions. We were running low on cut logs and so I asked where the chainsaw was. He actually asked in so many words if i was mentally fit to use one. I was so angry, hurt and offended. Nice to know the mental health stigma is still going strong.
My tat has started to peel a bit so i keep shedding little black lines.
But on the plus side a windy day at Clevedon with impressive wave action...
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