The OCD in me

For some reason I find it intensely satisfying when I finish pads of Post-Its or cartridges of staples. Indeed, rather oddly, it's much more satisfying than finishing pieces of work.

Confession

I have never been met at an airport.

Ambitions

1. Live in Italy, preferably Siena or Firenze
2. Write a novel
   
3. Have children
4. Own a big red squishy sofa
5. Explore Egypt
6. Knit a jumper for everyone in my family
   

First...

• Memory - running down a hill with my mum, having to reach up to hold her hand
• Pet - guinea pig. It died.
• Crush - James somebody from class 10. I don't remember anything about him other than he had dark hair.
• Best friend - Catherine, from play group. She came to my wedding, but that was the first time I had seen her in years.
• Film - Bambi.
• Kiss - a surprise that I hadn't seen coming. Not entirely pleasant or welcome.
  
• Flight - to Finland. Lots of lakes.
  
• Car - VW Polo
  
• Sex - in a tent. It needed practice.
• Flat - (post-uni) ex-council in South London.
• Plant - African violet.
• Love - boy from school. I treated him badly, but only right at the end. I didn't have the maturity or experience to handle it differently.
• Ambition - to be a teacher, like Ma and Pa.
  

5 things

1. I have never seen my father's chin in the flesh
2. I have fallen asleep within 10 metres of the previous Pope (but I'm not Catholic, so it didn't worry me too much)
3. I am afraid of putting my head under water, especially in the sea
4. I have a secret crush on Neil Gaiman
5. I do not like chocolate biscuits, though I like both separately
   

So...

...the big deal.

I graduated from university 5 years ago. Within 6 months, my significant other, Tom, had an affair with a man.

I found out.

We talked it through, and (for a variety of reasons, upon which I will elaborate at a later date) we stayed together. Two years ago we got married. This is, generally speaking, a good thing. We love each other, we get on well, we make each other laugh, we tidy up after each other (me - emotionally; him - with cleaning products and elbow grease). We complement each other.

But, he is still fairly screwed up emotionally. His family deserves a goodly number of posts, filled with awe at the dysfunctionality, and this is a major part of it. He is currently in therapy, instigated by me, which he agrees he needs and after a couple of months, is now telling me when I'm not being 'therapeutic' (I have a weakness for bitchy one-liners when upset or angry, and I know they don't help, but sometimes they pop out before I think. But I do feel bad).

Now that he's in therapy he has someone other than me to talk to about all this. I could talk to James (GBF*, my best man [yes, I am a girl - the wedding was slightly unconventional] and person in whom I originally confided when faced with Tom's infidelity), but he lives far, far away, and this just isn't something I want to do over the phone. There is also the fact that I've never really forgiven him for listening to me cry, then not getting back to me for 2 months, despite the massive emotional support I've given him over the years, which has really led to me mentally labeling him 'Friend for Fun not Support'. I could also talk to the other person I talked to at the time, Hat Jessica (for some reason, I know many Jessicas, Jessies and Jesses, so they will all have a descriptor. Hat Jessica wore a beret when she met my mum, and the name stuck), but she is also far, far away. And is really also an FfFnS, having done a similar disappearing act after my outpouring. I don't think they were the right people to have talked to at the time, and I think it even less now. So they are off my list.

I could (and possibly will) talk to Caitlin, knitting buddy extraordinaire and resident of the same city as me, but she is also a good friend of Tom's. I find it difficult telling people, especially if they have any kind of relationship with Tom, as I really feel deep down that this is 'his problem', and any effects on me are actually peripheral. I 'know' this isn't the case - the effects on me are actually massive, and may get bigger as he delves through his subconscious in therapy, sorting out who he really is, and what he really wants - but I still find it's a stumbling block when I try to talk about it.

There are other candidates, but none of them seem particularly suitable, I guess mainly because most of my really close friends are 200+ miles away, like Hat Jess and James.

So I've taken the anonymous option, and started a blog. Writing about all of this will help me sort out what I think and feel, just like talking about it would (I can make my own sympathetic noises and nod in the right place if necessary). If people read this and give me advice, that's a bonus. If people read this and give me abuse, I'll ignore them (I'm hard to shake).

*GBF - gay best friend

Poppy by numbers

It doesn't take that much to make me happy, here are some of the things that will make a happy Poppy:

• a good book
• a comfy sofa
• a bag of prawn crackers
• a good DVD (current favourites - House, Grey's Anatomy, Bones, West Wing, Spooks)
• some fun people, each with a healthy dose of cynicism and wit

Things that make Poppy growl:

• the people I sit with at work.

It is not acceptable to be that fucking cheerful all the time. Everything is not 'luvly' (must be said with simpering Northern accent, dripping with saccharine). Sometimes when people don't detail every single evening/weekend/thought to their colleagues, it's actually because they prefer to keep things private.

And it is never OK to ask a colleague (who is not your friend just because they have to sit next to you 5 days a week) if they are pregnant if you haven't witnessed them drinking coffee for a couple of days. This is especially the case if you're going to pretend you're not actually asking if they're pregnant by claiming 'I had a dream that you were pregnant, so are you?' - transparent just isn't the word. And pathetic. Grow some fucking boundaries.