Today was a mixed day. The temps that have been doing work for me seems to be paying off and the backlog getting less. However, in the afternoon I had a meeting with my line manager. I knew a telling off was coming. I’d been ridiculously defensive in a meeting with her and the guy I find difficult to get on with and was told I need to communicate more professionally. Following on from that the verbal offer of a promotion that has been mentioned again and again over the last three months has been withdrawn. I guess the self sabotage worked, but all the more reason to move on. I guess my first reaction was to blame everyone else. I was however able to share that I put pressure on myself and when he puts that added pressure on and even higher, more unrealistic expectation, I snap. I’m working on it, hopefully it’ll get better. Apparently according to the course coach he’s meant to be good for me, although I definitely struggle to see that in the moment!
So moving on from that I managed to leave my laptop at work for the weekend, hurrah! I went for my chiropractor appointment. My ankles/Achilles have been killing me for the last week since she worked on them to the point they are tender to even touch. At the course there is a book called ‘The Secret Language of your Body’ by Inna Segal. In this book it explains all the possible underlying emotions linked to an ailment. Well, I’d looked up ankles and this is what it said:
I’m not sure if I agree with the whole left and right ankle ones, but feeling trapped, having no choice and wanting to be right rang true.
After my appointment, (and managing to sit on my glasses!) I rushed home to get ready for my date. I got ready and felt I looked quite good, even had time to straighten my hair. The date tonight enjoyed cycling, was quite slim, bald on top and left the bits either side, but we could overcome that. He worked in comms, an ex journalist, had spent a year travelling not too long ago and had a really warm smile and nice eyes.
I set off on the train into town. I’d debated whether to drive so I’d have to stick to one drink but decided to take the train. I got to the bar where we’d arranged to meet before him but he’d let me know he was running a bit late. He’d also asked me if I’d like to look at the light night event going on so he’d already got brownie points.
So eventually he arrived. I really didn’t recognise him. He was like his photo, but plus three stone and all that three stone being on his face, I don’t think the extra thick bulky jumper did him any favours. We had a drink together and then set off outside.
Now I’ve got nothing against being overweight, I’m not the skinniest, but the fact he’s too scared to put up a recent photo says a lot. At one point he even referred to himself as the Michelin man. The chat was ok, but a bit of an effort and there was absolutely no attraction whatsoever.
Having said that, in my usual manner I stayed out until past the last train, I should have taken the opportunity when we were down by the train station to call it a day but I didn’t so ended up having to get a taxi.
The bizarre thing about this date was the way he was kind of a ‘me on a bad day’. Even though he’d suggested we’d look at the night light exhibitions he blatantly wasn’t enjoying them. He was asking me what I thought and my response was they’re ok which then turned into this competition of is this one anymore impressive. It became quite negative. He was completely uncomfortable with any creative art to the point where you could see him physically squirming. By the time we went into the third one I was I bit naughty and wasn’t letting him pretty much walk straight out.
The alarm bells went off when he was saying he hadn’t got time for himself to go swimming anymore, well how’s he going to have time to invest in a relationship? On top of that his ‘mountain biking’ is actually cycling for a mile down to the local park and doing laps around the lake on the tarmacced path- a definite lack of adventure. On top of this when talking about his family he’s got an estranged brother which seemedextremely raw and an alcoholic mother which meant he didn’t allow himself to ever drink at home. Talking of his home, he’d lived there for seven years and admits to not having put a single picture up.
So in conclusion he’s not for me, but has made me more aware of the need for having a space in my life for a potential boyfriend to fill and being kind to myself do others can see I would be kind to them.