Wanted to write an entry about life, love and queer rage but somehow I can only find the word when the computer is turned off and I am reading/watching a film/sewing. It's as though I have to unfocus my mind in order to bring anything to coherent realisation and the moment I try to pin it down it slips away.
Suffice to say then, I feel hopeless and trapped but endeavour, every day, to try and lift that feeling through action. As the core reality of my situation never changes though, that is ultimately futile. Right now, on a Saturday night, I am worrying about work and my self-perceived feelings of failure in my role. I am single handedly responsible for administering the payroll for more than 200 people. That means deducting 9 kinds of pension payments, 8 kinds of union payments, childcare, student loans, National Insurance, PAYE and health insurance from people's pay - some of it is automatically calculated, some of it isn't, and the bits where it goes wrong, or I inherit it as being wrong from other payroll providers is all down to me to manually figure out. All that responsibility, a terrible wage and hundreds more small but 'vital' jobs to do? Add that to no formal training WHATSOEVER in the role I have been 'succesfully' fulfilling for the last year and you get a pissed off, overwhelmed and worn down Lizzie.
I got a cat, I called him Vincent. After Vincent Van Gogh who is my most recent love affair. He's proving to be, like all cats, very much his own person and we have moments of oneness and moments of exasperation. I hope to let him out of the house for the first time tomorrow and will be trying the age old tactic of buttering his paws so he comes home.
I'll leave you with photos. Because I've nothing else to give tonight, much as I strain to find it.