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July 2014

fighting the good fight

The back is all like new, now. Funny how quickly we (I)(but I feel better if I say we, you see) forget to be grateful for the absence of pain. Eaten bread is soon forgot, as my mother would say. Though can I whine that my tonsils are doing.. something? Something lumpy. Apart from this minor fly in the ointment, all is well. The agency has all our papers! The JB has been made permanent in his job, basically the equivalent of tenure! I have met lots of very nice and lovely comic people recently (this was one of those rare You're One of Me! moments) and am having fun making books and cartoons for the fair.
Armchair

Meanwhile, I am dealing with a couple of Situations. The first, a Bouncy Castle Situation: The Neighbours (our house face out around a block, and our gardens are cosily patchworked together at the back, cheek to jowl. When we moved here I thought this was quaint and community-oriented. But. No. No, it's not.) have a roaring inflatable in the shape of a crenelated turret in their garden and an unbelievable amount of small people screeching like banshees as they leap around on it. One doesn't mean to be a complete curmudgeon, mind you; I do actually like them, the small people. But why do the parents/guardians not tell them not to screeeeeeammmm? When did the words “Keep it down, you lot.” go so out of vogue? In addition, during the week, they seem to be running some sort of creche/child-minding business. Unless they are a commune or have lots of wives or something? Is Big Love happening over there? There are too many loud small people of a similar age to have been produced by one woman. Not that I care. Just Keep. It. Down.

 Situation two: I have been working on a project with two others for the last year. One of them started having family problems, got depressed and disappeared. The other disappeared when her father got sick. Not a problemo. I mean, yes, a problemo for the company, and for the families, of course, but I understood and everything. I finished what I had to do and stopped working too while we waited to see how things went. But now! The depressed one has sprung back to life, like a corpse sitting up in a coffin, without so much as an explanation or excuse, and seems to be angling for me to leave and give her all my work. HMPH. Not going to happen.

Damnitall, it seems I must fight my corner, a thing I am Crap At. I prefer curling up in my corner, stroking the edge of my blankie, not fighting it.

Fighting words/advice/comparative stories welcome. How do you handle things like this? I'd love to know. In the meantime, parent-visiting time.

Be well, all.

T