Just a Little Worried

I’m just a little worried about The Child.  She has just posed the question, “What would happen if your boobs were alive and had teeth, and brushed their teeth themselves?”  I honestly didn’t know what to say to that other than, “That would be creepy and weird.”  She’s also just a little bit obsessed with things dying, and killing slugs and flies.  I’m not sure how worried I should be.  I vaguely remember cutting worms in half and things, but I don’t think I was ever so obsessed with boobs.  Or death for that matter.  Sure I liked gore and things, but still.  Hmm.  She’s a strange individual.  And I’m wondering if I should perhaps read We Need to Talk About Kevin.  There are times I wish I had a nice placid sort of child.  One who doesn’t excitedly tell me every time she kills a slug.  I don’t want to know about killing slugs.  I’d rather not know.  And as for the boobs thing, I have tried to ignore it.  But now it’s getting ridiculous.  When she starts telling my family that I’ve got big fat boobs, it’s gone too far.  But none of us could keep a straight face.  She really needs to learn the difference between fat, thin, and average.  She could offend many people with her gross misuse of the words “big” and “fat”.  Oh dear.

The Suspense is Killing Me

I’m anxiously awaiting the arrival of next Tuesday.  It’s when I have my ‘transferring to jobseeker’s’ meeting at the Jobcentre.  How I wished I could have found a job before this point in time.  Grrr.  Oh well.  I’m sure it won’t be as bad as I’m expecting.  Perhaps someone will actually have some helpful advice or something.  Or perhaps they’ll just send me to the careers advisor again or something.  Or send me to that place where The Ex did all those random courses that have done nothing to help him get another job.  At least he has a job though.  And he’s about to get promoted or something.  He’s got more hours now anyway.  Lucky him. 

So this month is shaping up to be a barrel of laughs.  I am actually dreading next week more than being on jobseeker’s.  Possibly.  In fact all I’m dreading about being on jobseeker’s is the probable pressure to apply for every possible job going regardless of whether the hours suit and whether I’m actually qualified.  This of course will maximise the rejection potential, and increase the depression that accompanies this.  Of course I don’t mean actual clinical depression here.  Though I suppose it could lead to that.  Of course by doing that I might get a job I didn’t expect to.  Perhaps that’s where I’ve been going wrong.  I’ve not applied for jobs requiring experience I don’t have, and that want the applicant to be able to work weekends and evenings.  Actually, I suspect that even if I did get one of those, they wouldn’t suddenly change their mind about availability and work hours.  Hmm.  I know it’s not going to be as bad or stressy as I expect.  But I do hate going to the Jobcentre.  Something about the place just fills me with dread.  And so yeah, the suspense is killing me.  I just want to know what to expect.  I just want to get it over and done with.  I want a job already.

Oh, and as no giant killer spiders have appeared yet, the anxiety over the appearance of those is increasing daily.  I hate being so pathetic, but even the knowledge that I have dealt with them fine all by myself isn’t helping me now.  Again, I just want to get that over and done with.  Then again, if we could get through a whole spider season without seeing any, that would be great.  Of course I have now totally tempted fate.  At least it’ll get it over and done with.

At least The Child has settled back in at school.  And she already has a party invite.  Yes.  I still envy her social life.  And I can’t believe she’s in year one.  She’s almost six.  That’s the scariest thing yet.  Oh joy, yet another thing to look forward to.  Her birthday party.  Grrrr.

And I’m not actually sure that suspense is actually an appropriate term in relation to any of the above.  It just seems wrong to me, but I can’t think of anything better.  Oh well.  One day my grasp of the English language might improve.  The fact that I want to be a writer is alarming.