Back To Normality (Sort Of)

I'm trying very hard to get back to normality - an adventure constantly thwarted by the likes of Colin and Andrew who consider the best therapy for me to cope with my 'rejection' (their term, I don't consider it a rejection at all, more a polite brush-off barely disguising a distinct lack of interest) by Sarah is for me to talk about at every given opportunity. I question their methodology, and have repeatedly pointed this out to them; as well as the unlikliness of such disparate personalities as Colin and Andrew discovering a common ground.

A pleasant surprise this morning. I have few enemies, or at least I like to think I have. But one habitual thorn in my side throughout the last few years has been the bathroom scales. And today they have been my friend. I weigh the lightest I have weighed all year. I have to quantify that in I mean year as in 2009, rather than year in the last twelve months or so. If I meant the latter, I'd still - sadly - have another twenty or so pounds to go. But I'm not allowing anything to sully the sheen from my achievement, I have lost a little bit of weight.

And a pleasant surprise yesterday during my first one-to-one with Peter Handyman. Completely unexpectedly, he stunned me by singing my praises and at one stage seemed in danger of offering to buff up my dangly bits, metaphorically. As I said, completely unexpected. He said I'm definitively the type of guy he likes having under him, one who requires the bare minimum of management. I was lost for words - was this human being sat in front of me, really the non-human-being known as Peter Handyman, the boss from not quite hell but somewhere only a smidgeon less undesirable? And at times not only did he seem perfectly human, he almost seemed vulnerable and a little child-like. Perhaps that b@st@rd persona is a construct to hide . . . something; no idea what as he keeps it hidden. Or maybe he just wants to get me on his side? I'm not making the decision. He finished off our little chat by claiming he's making inroads at persuading those above him to create a specialist, team-leader/head-developer role for me. They'd be no payrise, he stated (surprise surprise) due to the current salary freeze, but it'd be one step further on the ladder for me. I didn't want to pour a dampner on things by telling him it would be a ladder I'd have no interest in climbing. I'll see how things go. Of course a team leader is somehow who gets designated with all the tasks that the manager who appointed them cannot be @rsed to do. I'll have to be careful.

Made my way home after work to find Colin had re-surfaced from somewhere, and was putting himself together some pasta and sauce concoction. I enquired as to whether any of it could be for me, but he just said if I were him I wouldn't want to eat anything he'd cooked, so he just cooked for one. He then asked if I was feeling less like Yogi Bear after a night on the Absinthe.

I told him I was fine. He immediately brought up Sarah but I held a hand up to that and told him it was not something I wanted to talk about. This, according to my brother, meant I obviously hadn't got over Sarah (not that there is anything to get over) and he'd be there when I was good and ready to talk about it. I thought about telling him not to hold his breath, but then I decided to ask him how long he intended to be 'here'; i.e. a (so far) non-paying lodger, and how his job-hunting activities were progressing. I thought this might provoke an argument but Colin started grating some cheese over his pasta (and sauce) and told me he wouldn't be in all our hair much longer. He said he'd been chasing a promisingly lead all weekend and with a bit of deserved good fortune it could develop into something of promise. I kept my thoughts to myself: But those thoughts were thinking probably the only thing Colin had spent the weekend chasing were things that *had* leads (and went bow wow wow) but then thought I was being a little harsh. Then I decided I wasn't hungry and went to sit in the lounge.

Which turned out not to be my smartest move as Andrew was in there, nibbling on the laste remnants of a salad whilst reading Colin's Telegraph. He smiled as I flopped down into my chair, then asked how I was. This sudden and continued and expressed concern from him continues to flummox me.

So I said I was fine and began to flick through the TV in search of something watchable (and failing, it all seems to be frustrating quiz shows these days). Andrew didn't take the hint and asked if I had any more thoughts about Sarah and I felt my heart sink and thud against the laminate flooring. And I lost it a little.

I said, or rather (almost) shouted: There's nothing to think about - it was nothing, just two people who'd happened to bump into each other once re-acquainting themselves and finding there's nothing worth further pursuing.

Andrew looked a little hurt. He said there's no need to snap, dad. I'm just concerned for your happiness.

I laughed at that. And found myself saying: Since when? Since when have you or your two brothers ever been concerned about my happiness? How many females have I brought back here since your mother topped herself? And how many have you made to feel welcome? And how many have you gone out of your way to make to feel firmly unwelcome? From refusing to speak to them or even acknowledging them to running about in the buff with your todgers on display? How is that concern for *my* happiness?

Andrew looked grim. We were just kids, he said. We didn't want a new mum. Then he zipped his lips, stood up, and walked out of the room.

I watched him go, then returned my gaze to the TV. Then I swore at a contestant on Eggheads who didn't know that Dave Grohl was once the drummer in Nirvana.