Tired and Emotional

I'm starting to get used to the fact that I'm probably not going to do half the things I planned to do while I'm in Ireland.

I was going to hang around on windswept cliffs and let my Titian locks blow about my porcelian complexion while I waited for inspiration to strike. However, my busy schedual and the fact that I don't actually have a porcelain complexion and Titian locks, or indeed any sort of locks, militates against this. And my face gets all chapped when it's windy. And it hasn't really stopped raining here for weeks. So that's out.

I'm supposed to be learing Spanish, but my Spanish For Dummies book is gathering dust on the shelf because I'm so tired when I get in from work I can't think straight. Ditto writing, singing, painting and everything else. Well, I mean obviously I'm writing. I can't stop. It's like sneezing or something, it just happens. However, I'm not really producing anything you could call coherent, nothing I can send off to a publisher.

And I'm stuck with this job. See, after Christmas, there's only going to be another couple of months or so during which I can reasonably be working full-time, ten weeks at the outside. Which means I can't really get another job, because by the time I start I'll be about ready to stop again. I wouldn't mind really but when I get to Barca I'm going to have to get a job in a bar or something, which will be more of the same. It's unlikely I'll get anything particularly good out in Spain because I don't speak the language and I don't have a degree.

Which is a bit depressing, really. If I'm realistic, it's starting to look like I'm going to be doing this kind of work for... well, for ever. Certainly I can write, certainly there are things I could be doing to improve my situation, but when am I going to find the time or the energy? People keep giving me breezy encouraging suggestions, but when I remind them that-- HELLO! I don't have a degree! And I'm going to be living in a country where I don't speak the native language! For a year and a half! And I'm not a kid anymore, I'm 29!-- they go sort of quiet.

I know my situation could be much worse, I really do. Counting blessings like nobody's business over here. It's just that the thought of wearing a name-tag for the rest of my life has a rather limited appeal.

Yeah, I know what you (or some of you, anyway) are thinking. "Oh, but she's got a male pard'ner who's working! What's she worried about?"

Well, where to start? First off, I'm an independant sort. I don't like the thought of needing to rely on anyone for anything, because in my experience that never ends well. Secondly and hugely more importantly: I signed up to be a life partener, not a fucking bracket fungus. I don't see any particular reason why a guy should support me just because he's a guy. (I know that in general the situation is not that simple, that there are all kinds of socioeconomic factors swooshing around and complicating every little thing. I'm not in general. I'm me.) I'm a Feminist with a great big hairy capital F, and I reckon that if I'm going to stamp around demanding my Rights I should show a little Responsibility. Which is how come I'm doing these sucktastic jobs instead of whining at my boyf to get himself a job in a bank. True, he does earn more than me, but I think I work longer hours. Plus he's got a career doing something he loves and is good at, while I have... a name tag.

Large or small coffee? *simpers*