Work Is Called Work Because It Is Hard

Hello There You,

So as I continued my working day as normal on Thursday of last week, all in the knowledge that my dear Mr. Warehouse was out at work in his new role within a brewery, I revelled in the possibility that we could soon be living a life better than we were with more holidays, a car for me and less money worries than we needed. However as I finished off the final bit of security clearance I had been working on the phone rang. I answered to a voice that was tearful and trembling. It was my boyfriend. I knew what had happened even before I asked and yet I still allowed myself to ask what was wrong. 

"I quit my job" a tear-cracking voice croaked from the other end of the line. As I went to offer word of support I questioned what I would even say. Anger, disappointment and upset pulsating through my body I needed to put all them emotions and more aside for Mr. Warehouse needed my support right now and not my criticism. I tried to offer some empathetic words of advice and wisdom in a moment of utter despair. I knew nothing would go in as I had been in that position myself, many a time before. But what worried me the most is that I always found a way to bounce back from a bad situation and turn it into an advantage by looking and successfully gaining employment very quickly. I just hoped that it would rub off onto my other half and that I wouldn't have to look into alternative living arrangements for him also. 

Not that of course I would ever have wanted to but reluctantly, I gave Mr. Warehouse the ultimatum that he had before I fly out to Ireland to look after my Aunt and Uncles Country Farmhouse on Friday morning, he had to find a job and ideally be already working by the Thursday evening. As harsh as it sounds - He had a week. I mean I would have given him two if it was not for me going away but his reckless and quite frankly rather selfish decision was an added and unnecessary stress on our relationship, not to mention the impact it has had on our wallets. I still stand by my "Ultimatum" that it was not a harsh one, for I cannot, and will not, struggle for someone who does not consider others situations and circumstances before themselves. Desperate, I tried to hear my beloved boyfriend's points of the job being strenuous, straining on muscles and stifling in the heat of a stuffy warehouse with little or no wind to clear the stale air, but a little part of me knew that this was simply a shock to the system. Rightly or wrongly, probably more so the latter, in recent years Mr. Warehouse was seldom breaking into a sweat on where he used to work with me and my colleagues. The fact that he was now loading and unloading pallets full with crates of beer, ales and other bottles of alcohol was hard and laborious in comparison to his previous roles. In a way I felt sorry for him, but in others I wished he would have stuck it out in a bid to see if it gets better and what the alternative shift may hold. But alas my intrinsic advice falls onto deaf ears again.

For the rest of the day I seemed to mope. Not by choice or conscience doing, just simply bumbling through the rest of the day wondering how it would be possible to support our little household on the extremely modest wage I was earning. Bills, Rent and the likes were nearly nine-hundred-pounds, and with Mr. Warehouse's outgoings and bills on top it made my entire wage packet disappear before you could even say 'Jobseekers Allowance'. Not only would I loose absolutely every last piece of my already mediocre social life, I would also miss out on vital driving lessons and learning potential therefore knocking my test back even further than needed. I wouldn't be able to visit Miss Tweedle-Dumb in her new job and life in the Berkshire countryside west of London. I'd have to stop all my plans for holidays to European Christmas Markets and spontaneous weekends away. All in all I would be sacrificing my evenings, potentially working two jobs, just to support myself and Mr. Warehouse as well as the dog who also needs feeding. 

After talking with Mr. Warehouse his options and explaining to him that whilst I will always try my up most to support him in every which way he needed me and wanted me to, both financially and emotionally I would try and put my feelings of anger and hurt aside to cater for him and his needs first. Although this is of course very hard when you feel wronged in a way that you have offered an olive branch in good faith it should never have to be taken and then it is taken as an easy option out of a mildly bad situation. I would have hoped, knowing how much he disliked the job from the outset, that Mr. Warehouse would have at least tried to stick it out for a little longer, continuing in the job search whilst spending his afternoons humping and lumping Amstel crates around. 

Nevertheless I cannot complain too much for after a productive Friday afternoon calling round employment agencies, emailing CV's and a few cheeky hours on the Xbox whilst I was still at work, Mr. Warehouse has found himself a job. Although whilst this is temporary, with the potential of it and other jobs coming up more permanent and with better pay the future is looking optimistic in comparison to last week, but until I feel my shoulders relax again as a result of the added income, I will continue to feel the financial burden of keeping us all from drowning. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Passed and the Present ...

Hey You, 

Hope you are well and that life is treating you a tad better than it has this week. Safe to say I am beginning to think that this time of year is always when something usually goes wrong. Last year it was Mr. Suicide and everything coupled in 'A Week From Satan Himself ... ' and this year it seems that there is something wrong with old people. With a Great Auntie buried this week, my grandfather in hospital, Nanny Tweedle-Dee poorly and Miss Tweedle-Dumb in mourning for a close elderly relatives passing I am beginning to think that I shouldn't be drinking the water around here!

Now I understand that some people find my sense of humour a little dry at times and on the odd occasion darker than most, but I sometimes struggle to explain how I feel or my emotions surrounding death. And god forbid if I was to ever give advice about death or the woes that supposedly go with it. Fact is that luckily, or unluckily, at the ripe old age of twenty-two and ten months I have not had anyone particularly close to me kick the bucket so as to speak. 

I have had a few distant relatives or old family friends funerals that I have had to attend, hell, I have even cried at a few but suffice to say that my grandparents all bar one are all still alive and kicking and I still have most of my family left, or at least the ones that have not disowned me yet. It is always awkward when someone speaks to me about death as from such a young age I have been aware of it and its permanent lifestyle mark it makes. When you are a part of a military family like I have been it is easy to learn that one day, sooner or later, that person that brought you up and gave you all they ever could will die. They won't always be there to catch you and I think that is maybe a thesis I carry to this very day. Watching my father cry a few years ago at a close funeral ripped through me, knowing that anything I say or do just isn't enough to take his pain away. Seeing my father fall apart as he croaked out words of happiness as he was so sorrowful made my own heart physically ache at his mourning. It seems the closer they are to you and the ones you know, the deeper and more stinging the wound. Nothing puts life into perspective more than watching grown men shed a tear for the loss of someone great and that was represented no better place than a funeral I attended this week. And those that know me and regularly read will know that the fact of it being on my mothers side of the family just knots my stomach ever more so. 

My Great-Aunt had always been in the background of our family portrait but as I got older and became more wiser about the dynamics of my family set up I could somewhat understand why. With her own life, family, grandchildren and up until a few years ago her husband life as usual took over for everyone but my Great-Auntie still remained the backbone of my mothers side of the family until her health started to deteriorate a couple of years ago after her husbands passing. Sitting at my desk a few weeks ago I was shocked and stunned to hear that she had left the living world as we knew it but nevertheless knew she would be at peace with her husband and late daughter. Wanting to pay my respects I asked the family if I could come and pay my respects quietly before the funeral as my attendance to such event may not be likened given the guest list which was to include my own god-forsaken mother. I was welcomed with hugs and kisses, handshakes and pats on the back as I arrived at the small church in Luton. Whilst never happy affairs I seemed to lift spirits slightly with my presence and the ability to tell a good few jokes seemed to be warmly received. Spending most of Tuesday night talking with close family members, my youngest uncle mainly, I was told that I would be welcomed on the day of the funeral and totally kept a watch over in case a certain someone decided to swoop in and cause trouble. 

Feeling positive I left to meet Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb for some drinks and more talk of Vegas and Reading Festival. To cheer me up after saying goodbye to Auntie Chrissie they presented me with a value range Iron that I am chuffed to bits about and some chocolate to make me smile. Over the moon with my gifts I departed that evening in the knowledge that within the next twenty-four hours I will be within touching distance of the women I should call Mommy. Donning a black ensemble I came into work early to catch up on what had up until that point been a manic few days. Multiple comments were passed in the few hours I was in the office about how good I looked. According to my colleagues a black and a melancholy attitude suit me. Feeling positive about the whole thing initially I set off for the church not knowing really what to expect or anticipate on arrival. As usual though I was late, although I did bear in mind that its a funeral and she isn't actually going anywhere so it would be OK. And it is OK to say this as I know that my dearest Great-Auntie would have find that hilarious. Stumbling into the church I quietly sat at the back, sang to hymns I didn't believe in and wondered why at such a time as a funeral it all seems to be god this and Jesus that. A little selfish I think given the fact that their not the one lying in a beech effect box at the end of the aisle. Nevertheless I went along with it knowing that this is what Auntie would have wanted. As the funeral came to an end I knew the big guns were soon to be raised and I should prepare for a battle against the vehicle that bore me. 

As the coffin was carried out by a mixture of children, grandchildren and nephews I couldn't help the tears rolling down my cheek. A part of me for a few moments had wished that Mr. Cheese could have been there to simply support me but I knew that some day I would have to face things like this alone. Unfortunately no matter how much I wanted Mr. Cheese to hold me, cuddle me and to tell me it was going to be all OK I knew he would be preparing for a holiday with his family I should have been joining him on. Following the coffin out of the church was the family that seemed so distant too me sometimes. My Aunty, Nana and Uncles all passed as did my not-so baby brother, our wailing mother in toe. Thinking I had got away with it I wiped away more hot tears from my cheeks and smiled as I thought of the memories I had with the deceased some of which have inspired me to write now. Only I hadn't got away with it and it had seemed that I had been rumbled. Feeling a hard tap on my shoulder I could see the steadily moving procession had stopped so my mother could face me. Reluctantly turning to face her I stood strong and powerful as she crumbled. 

"Come with us Abbey," She blubbed as she tried to usher me in front of her and to join the queue of mourners. I declined, turning away from her as I had done so many times before. Pulling and grabbing at my arm she tried to pull me to the front of the now growing and line of spectators. Feeling as though time was dragging on I declined a second time as she brokenly croaked how I was family and should join the following. A million thoughts and phrases ran through my head as she tugged at me again. Feeling that I was blushing with embarrassment and anger I turned and barked at her that I was not under her spell any more and that I would pay my respects when I'm ready and come out when I am done. Feeling stronger and prouder of myself than ever before I watched as she was pushed along by the crowds wanting to get out into the happiness of the sunshine. Letting out a sigh of relief I could tell that there was more to come. 

As the funeral, burial and wake continued well into the late evening I kept my distance from my mother for fear of being lured from family and into a blazing row. The stifling heat drew many of us to the bar and to mingle at other tables which was helpful given the company at my initial table was not of profound quality I would wish to indulge. I spent many hours spilling my tales of life since the events surrounding my parents divorce and other such events and was even able to give a few good jokes making the occasion of a funeral a little less morbid. Noticing that my mother was due to leave I threw myself outside into the afternoon sun to speak with Miss Tweedle-Dumb hoping that I would distract Mother enough so that she could leave without approaching me although I knew that phone call or not if she wanted a fight, she wanted a fight. Thankfully she stayed respectful and upon my return the broomstick and it's owner had left. Soon enough it was time for me to leave and with promises of seeing my everyone soon in better circumstances I revelled in the fact that yet again I came off the better person in all of this and all within the knowledge that maybe cracks were beginning to appear in what my mother had told her family. Leaving the church hall I had been to so many times before I felt good about myself, which is unusual, especially after a run in with one half of my gene-pool. 

I couldn't help notice in hindsight people engrossed in deep conversation with close family members of mine whilst gazing at me in wonderment and joy. I later found out that it wasn't just me who was telling people of my pent house apartment in Bedford and my managerial position or my world-wide blog, it was also the family I rarely saw. Singing my praises and constantly telling me I had done well for myself made me feel like despite everything that had happened, this year and beyond, that I was doing alright for myself. As well as being constantly on a proper 'big-up' from my family I was also being poked by familiar faces as to when my wedding day will arise. After telling all prospective enquirers that I have yet to find Mr. Right they assured me that he will be lurking somewhere and that I wont be single before long. Somehow I can't see that either, but going on my first few dates as a single-girl, I'm asking people not to start buying up hats and facinators just yet as this girl has plenty of living left to do. And when the market is as large as is it why settle at twenty-two! 

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx