You remember how I drew my brain ineptly a while back?
Well it seems to have shifted slightly. Now about a third of it is consumed by: wondering about the film they seem to be making in an empty car showroom on my route to work. Yesterday there were about 50 pallets of apples. Today there is a stuffed fox, and a stuffed duck as well as the apples. I want to just leave this office right now and go and stare open mouthed at the Belgian artistry on display. I mean, I would TOTALLY watch that film. I reckon it might be as good as the "Yoga for vegetables" film the CFO cruelly wouldn't accompany me to see last year.
The rest of it goes like this:
1. How do I get rid of Tony?
2. When can I resign?
Yes, I think I have decided to resign. I mean, it will probably take a while. I have to save a little money so we don't all have to eat stones or send the Eurospawn up chimneys. Lashes is getting far too big and objectionable for that, sadly. I also have to pay off various items of frightening footwear discussed recently on these pages.
I broached the subject with the CFO earlier in the week. He was euphoric about not having to go for dinner in Ghent with a group of tractor salesmen, so it seemed like a good moment.
"Can I stop working altogether and write a book?"
"Of course" (see, this is why I love him)
"Really? I promise to chop up all my credit cards and I'll fill in a spreadsheet of my spending if you want".
"You mean, we could have a BUDGET? Like normal people? Not, just you randomly throwing money around on BOWLS with no regard for the future?"
"I don't want to promise something I'm not capable of, but I promise to try".
I am mutating into one of those women from the maturer ladies' glossies, who have a little breakdown in their thirties, stop being ball-breaking financiers and go off fill a gap in the market for antique petticoats. But without the petticoats. I did make a "sausage tailed bee tiger" this week (photo to follow when my home internet providers STOP BEING STUPID BASTARDS, as an aside, this is also why I am not replying to email at the moment. Sorry. I am trying to sort it out. ) but I don't think there's much of a market for them.
The idea of stopping work makes me feel very odd for all manner of reasons. Raised and schooled in 1970s feminism, the idea of relinquishing financial independence makes me feel uneasy, even guilty. I did it once before when we lived in Paris, and it was hell. It does odd, and difficult things to the balance of power in a relationship (do you like how romantically I put that? Yes, the CFO and I are squaring up to one another for a geopolitical squabble over the price of bowls). I think, and hope, we are both a bit more grown up now, though. But will that be enough to stop us killing each other?
The Bearded One certainly won't understand. I think I might have to just pretend I still have a job for a couple of years, like those men who put on their suits every day and go and sit on a park bench. 'My daughter the lawyer' trips off his tongue unbidden all the time. If you listen to him, you could be forgiven for thinking I am the lawyer empress of Brussels, sitting astride a mountain of EU Regulations with my feet on a small heap of crushed eurocrats. A Belgian Patty Hewes, possibly with marginally less murder. He wouldn't mind if there was a little bit of murder though I think. As long as it was, you know, totally essential to the case and he could brag about it. "Yes, my daughter is a very important lawyer. She ripped a man's throat out with a staple remover you know, she's that dedicated".
It makes me think guiltily of my mum, too, who was fiercely independent. And awesomely high-achieving. But dammit, she really loved her job. She was passionate about it. I'm not - I can barely tolerate mine on a good day. I drifted into it for all the wrong reasons (fear? stupidity?) and I only stay because it keeps me in fripperies. It seems a waste to do something so dreary. I know I am in an extraordinarily privileged position to even have a choice - and in a way I think this makes it even more important that I exercise that choice to do something that actually makes me, and by extension, those around me, happy.
"But think of the shoes!" says Matilda, who is a ferociously good and dedicated lawyer.
"God, just do it. It will give me panic attacks, but do it anyway." says BMF
"We just got trapped in the wrong job and now we can't get out" says my friend Sue.
"We could both go on this icing course I'm googling!" says Violet.
"I have a great opportunity in Bratislava" says Tony.
What do you think?