Christmas

What a wonderful day, what thoughtful gifts, what great company...what a relief, that's it's all over now!

Time for some trash TV and roast leftovers!
Merry Christmas and I'm looking forward to a NEW YEAR!
God knows, it's got to be better than the last one.

And, PS, speaking of God.
If anyone out there is on good terms with him.
It would be handy for me if you suggested that I really want the job I interviewed for last week.
In return, I promise on my children's lives that I will not dilute the general Catholicism of my potential employers and their school - with my own, personal brand of rabid atheism - if s/he will only give me the job and let me past the gate without causing me to froth and tremble when my foot makes contact with consecrated ground.

Do you know what, I have never been interviewed by so many people in leggings and polo shirts in my life?
Tough crowd...and the first job in eight years where I haven't walked in and told someone else why they need to make a job for me, set my own hours, rates and had them hire me on the spot.

Do you know what's worse.
The week before, I had to spend a day in Centrelink.
I'd already been told over the phone several times that they would not help me until I was actually unemployed, if I sent anything off they'd just stamp it, fail it and send it back, and then they told me that I should avoid any office except the one that would be my long-term office - which was conveniently 600km from where I actually was, where I was going to that week, and where I was spending my Christmas holidays...but I should get there as soon as I could.

In five hours I talked to SIX different social workers, form-filler-outerers and queue-controllers, produced the four forms I'd filled out ahead of time (to, and you can insert ironic laughter here, SAVE TIME) only to discover that last week they changed to a paper-free format and I had to answer the questions all over again so they could be typed straight into the system.

While I waited I sat next to a woman who, I thought, had burped - turned to look at her and she lifted her cheek off the seat to let one rip.

I had to come up with several WITNESSES to the why, when and where of my husband and my break-up and then, to top it off, I had to wait two hours to get the approvals...and conveniently ran into my sister-in-law (she of the innocent face and dark heart, not to mention the black hole vagina) who, stupidly, I agreed to have lunch with.
Despite turning her down three times, I ended up saying 'oh, sure' because she pulled the - 'we can still be friends, you're still family' line on me.
I know, stupid, stupid, stupid...I know better. A half hour after her dropping me back at Centrelink I had The Man screaming at me about how his sister was at his mother's and everyone was crying and...think EastEnders meets Passions and you'd be pretty close.

I got the...'how bitter she is, going on about how he'll have a new house and she'll have shitbox.' Oh, hold on! That's true, and I'm fine with it. It's my choice to keep The Farm.
And then there's the...' she didn't want to even have lunch with me.' I wonder why?
And the...' she won't even come pick up the kids' presents.' So The Man can have his own celebrations with The Kids next week for Fuck's Sake.
Or the...'she says he's going to kill himself." No, I said he's going to get himself killed. Anyone feeling sorry for themselves in a car with a bottle of Bundy runs that risk. Especially ones who spend a little bit too much time with other men's wives.

But you know what...I am proud of myself. (Not for that last comment...I must admit. I'm throwing out a few low blows of my own lately it seems.)
Not for getting sucked into the flurry of 'he said, she said & I always said' that the sister-in-law lives her life in - that was my own fault, I knew my armour was down that day and I know my own faults - but because I didn't try and explain to The Man.
No one should ever have to pick their family over their ex-partner and exes should never expect anything different - and frankly, I think I got the better deal out of the lot of us.

Well, I just breathed, told him to fuck off or talk to the CentreLink social worker himself (might have saved me answering a few questions and got my payments speeded up) and decided that, yes, I'm better off where I am...a long way away from all that drama.

I don't know when to shut my mouth. I always expect the best of people...despite all the contradictory evidence and, frankly, I don't want to be a pessimist and untrusting sadsack for the rest of my life.
I'm a sucker for drama, and a shocking gossip - and I need to surround myself with people who don't feed my weaknesses because it's not in my or my children's best interests.
And anyway, that's what blogs are for.

I tell you what, though...CentreLink is a sharp learning curve.
I think I'll do all the rest of my dealings with them over the phone - the air (and the staff) in there is just too thick.