Funny ol' week really

Not that it's a whole week yet. It's only Thursday night. Started off with me pretending to be brave on the bike. Well, braver than I've ever been before. But, hey it's another step in testing my alleged green credentials. Could I actually cycle to work? The answer, as you know by now, was yes. But then emotionally, Monday was a nightmare too. I cried, the first time for a while. I don't know if it was frustration, memories of a better time. Or what. But cry I did.

The week has plodded on, even without the plodding. I've been wading my way through my list -of-things-to-do-before-I-leave. It's made me feel quite productive. I suppose I should leave some stuff to do, so they realise they need me. I know that no-one wants to take on the fascinating contract negotiation work that I do so well. The word 'chlamydia' seemed to creep up in conversation as some sort of alternative to contracts work. I wonder if I should be paid more? Anyway, there are only six more paid days left in this contract.

I suspect I don't really sell my successes. I do guidance notes, codes of practice, comment on contracts. It sounds less exciting than watching dry paint get drier, but hey, they pay me to do it and I'm good at it. But then, I think I should point out to more people that I'm good at what I do. I deal directly with people and forget to copy in the boss or the colleague I work with who brought me in. I did some FAQ for someone as part of a staff briefing pack. I didn't know if the style was right or anything. But the recipient said yes, they were great. The thing is, only he and I even know I did the work. And I dissected a whole, tedious, umpteen part contract. Are people grateful? Well, yes, only because it means they don't have to do it, or even part of it. Not because they've thought about whether I did a good or even excellent job of it. The colleague-wot-brought-me-in is starting to panic about how my work is going to be covered after next week. The chap I was covering while on his secondment has sensibly accepted an alternative post in the mother ship company on his return. So, how do I leave them not in the lurch but needing me back in January? Preferably on a 3 or 4 day week basis? I shall puzzle that one over the weekend.

And as for life? It goes on. I'm very close to the end of the bottle of wine that I opened this evening. The Cure "Bloodflowers" is on the CD player machine thing on my desk. Ages ago, I commented on someone else's blog about not having a safe place. It's one of those things they get you to identify in 'therapy' sessions. I've been led through that exercise twice now, in slightly different ways. But being reduced to tears instead of feeling warm and comforted, because you can't identify a 'safe' place is not a good experience. Sitting here, now, I wonder if my 'safe place' isn't identified more by feelings than by geography or physicality. Music has meant a lot to me for a very long time. Not that I am musical in myself. If I were a musician, I would be the mathematical type, not the artistic sort. Some of you will know what I mean. And understand. However, the music of other people has been important to me for a very long time. So many of my memories are shaped by the music of the time, matching up with where I was in my life at the time. As a teenager, I was very into the charts, Radio 1, what was going on. I was a bit too timid and spotty and fat and reserved to be a punk. But in the sixth form, I discovered the Marquee in Wardour St. Don't remember how or with whom. And then, at college there was a fledgling radio station. I was in heaven.

And now. I get great comfort from losing myself in certain favourite tracks, CDs, artists, bands. I love going to gigs, but just don't keep up with what's going on anymore. One of the things that the ex (husband) and I have continued to do together, occasionally, over the years is to go to gigs. He said to me fairly recently (in the scheme of things) that it's nice to go to a gig with someone you know enjoys the same music or artist. And we have a great deal of history on that front.

So. Why am I rambling on like this? I think I'm trying to find myself. Take something forward that is me. Not rely on someone else. But it's not working. I must need some new music. That isn't related to how I have felt. But that will be associated with new good feelings. A song that I can sing on my bicycle on the way to work. In the meantime There is no if

And today, the broken conversation from Monday was repaired. I think. And hope.