A Canadian gal living in Britain with 3 men and a dog. Wine helps.

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Thursday, July 16, 2009

Five Days a Week...

As most of you are probably aware, back in March of this year I quit my job. After two years of trying to make something work that so obviously wasn't going to (not for me anyway) I packed it in - with no other job to go to. One aspect that was going to hit me hardest was not having any of my own pin money; no extra money to go out with the ladies who lunch, or buy the little treats for myself us girls fancy every now and again, such as shoes or make-up. However I did have an understanding husband who supported my decision in every way and when money allowed (i.e. wasn't wasted on bills or putting petrol in the 4x4 ;) didn't complain when I gave in to the odd lunch or four or just had to have a certain top I saw whilst out shopping. Needless to say though, I have been very good about it all. I think the fact that I managed to have over two months off while we seemed to have the best of the sunshine balanced out the not having as much dosh as I'm used to. Also, having my mother and Aunt here was a big bonus. If I'd still been working I would have lost out on a lot more time with them.

Now I say not working, which is kind of a fib, because not long after I quit my job I got a call from my former employer asking if I could do some temp work for her, only about 8 hours a week but hey, why not? (I shouldn't have been surprised, I'm just that good) And as Tesco says 'every little helps'. And it did, however slightly.

In between all the lunching, sunning and trips to the gym, I did manage to fill in an awful lot of applications; then attend an awful lot of interviews. I guess I wasn't that good after all ;) However just when I was about to despair I interviewed for a position that I knew I wanted even though it was full-time and I was awarded said position. I was in a slight form of shock the evening I was offered the job and almost had convulsions when asked if I could start the following Monday. My first thought was 'hell yes! I got the job!!!' while my second was 'so much for having the summer off' but then my third and final, and yes very driving thought was 'think of the money honey - think of the money'. And so last Monday I got myself geared up, pulled out my 'work' clothes and got back on the horse.

Mind you, its been six years since I road that horse... and by this metaphor I mean worked full-time. SIX YEARS people. Talk about an adjustment.

On that first morning I went off like a five year old beginning school for the first time: I had a big grin on my face, my clothes were clean and I was full of optimism, with just a slight twinge of fear. I was still feeling pretty much the same when I got home that first day. And then came Tuesday, which started well but by quitting time I was ready to pack it in. And so continued the week: my emotions were skipping all over the place. I was not happy with the situation at all. One day I was positive and upbeat, the next I was dejected and thinking I was in some kind of purgatory. I tell you, I was more up and down than a hyper kid on a trampoline. What an awful feeling. And not just for me... I think Andy and Alex were afraid to come near me for fear I would eat them in between growls (maybe I can't blame it all on work though, as it was the time in my cycle where I tend to get slightly crazy.)

Then the weekend came and I breathed it in just like a prisoner would who has been released from prison after 20 long years.

And once again came Monday. I went to work and I got stuck in and had a fabulous day. Then Tuesday, a little trepidation, wondering if something would crop up to make my positive thoughts run to the negative... but nope. Another great day. And here I am at Thursday, wondering where the week has gone. I've been so busy I don't know which way to turn but I'm thriving. I've easily stayed focused at work, am rising to the daily challenges and I still have enough energy to come home, get tea ready and even squeeze in some exercise. What's even better are days like today when I come home and find that our 16 year old has cleaned the house, including his bathroom and my husband offers to treat us to supper at the Harvest Moon. I really can't complain.

I certainly won't be complaining come payday.

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