It happened again.

I went on "vacation". I went back to work.

I've just finished my second week back and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the bathroom at work... and it hit me like a tonne of bricks.

Let me fill you in on this. I work for an elderly man who should have been retired 20 years ago. Or more. He has no clients come to the office. He solicits no new business. He has not changed his business practices since 1976 and hasn't upgraded any of his technology or software since 2003. His office is still on dial-up.

So, all I have to do is shut up and type, file, make statements and answer the phone. He does not care what we wear to work, he cares that we show up for work.

I'm fairly certain that his assistant accountant has come to work in her pyjamas multiple times.

I'm really certain that his office assistant who's working on the archival/document destruction project wore the same clothes to work three days in a row last week.

After looking in the mirror at work I'm pretty sure that I stopped giving a shit. My clothes are clean and I don't look like an unmade bed. I didn't, however, put product in my hair or put on make up. I wore board shorts and skate shoes, a tshirt and a hoodie, a baseball cap and a pair of knock off Wayfarers. I carried a massive black and white tote bag because it is big enough to hold all my crap AND two bottles of wine or four liters of soup.

I realized that I wore something similar on Wednesday and Tuesday and pretty much all last week. I stopped giving a shit about how I look the day after I returned to work.

I have been here before, and I'm kind of pleased that I noticed after only two weeks. I am treating this as a wake-up call. I need a new job. I need one now. I can't have this job suck the life out of me for a second time.

***

The last glass of wine (well a little shy of a standard serving) was not as yummy as the first and second nights, but still drinkable.

***

I have never considered doing improvisational comedy as a hobby or interest (I'm more of a stand-up kinda woman) but I am apparently going to the TheatreSports League Open Drop-In tomorrow afternoon. What the hell, I've got a husband trying to finish an album using his brand-new and completely awesome Reason software and who's started Week One of The Year of Calculus; it's not like we had plans.

Under the Weather

My hips are on strike today. I can barely walk. They are better than they were at 6 AM  but man they just suck. They hurt a little bit, but mostly they just don't work.

I hate having MS. I never can get comfortable with my routine because today my body just broke for no reason. It was fine yesterday.

"You were fine yesterday."

"You were fine this morning."

"You were fine an hour ago."

How many times have I heard that - said that to myself too - and it always sounds like I'm having a failing pointed out. It feels like an accusation of cheating or faking. It feels like I'm just not good enough.

***

I really like Joe Biden. I don't care who knows that.

***

What's left of this wine is still really good.

***

I understand my thoughts aren't rational. But I hate using MS as an excuse. Then I remember there is a big difference between an excuse and a reason.

MS is a reason why I can't do things. I hate it. Though I think that I prefer to have a reason than the excuse of my own procrastination or neglect.

Holding back

Every night I come to this flashing cursor and I have a tonne of stuff I want to say, but I try to follow the rules I have set for myself.

What goes in this blog has to be about my life, as it relates to my day-to-day, I say nothing that I wouldn't want published on the front page of the Globe and Mail (or New York Times), and it won't hurt anyone I love.

So here is the grey area.  There are things that I would like to say; about my beliefs, my values, my politics. It doesn't bother me much that my parents wouldn't be happy, but they either love me as me am or I don't talk to them. They get that. I think.

The problem is that what I want to say would upset my in-laws and severely alter their opinion of me. That really doesn't upset me much. But I know that it would upset my husband, because they are his parents and he wants them to like me.

So, I pour another glass of wine (#2) and suck it up.

***

This wine is very good.

***

I'm listening to my husband tell the story of his first day at the University of British Columbia.

It's going to be a very, very long two years.