I'm slowly settling into the repetitive routine of waking up at half six, being out the house by eight, starting work at the nursery at nine and working through to twelve, writing Chris/Shaz fic on my phone in my lunch hour then working through to four, getting home at five, eating and then sleeping. I have no time to myself after doing nothing all day every day for the best part of a year. It is a little odd, suddenly surrounding myself with kids who are depending on me to be perky for six hours of the day, and I'm coming home with the terrible headaches. It isn't because of all the yelling and adorable animal noises the pre-schoolers keep making. I don't know what it is, but I'm popping more prescription Codeine than I should be - and even then it isn't my prescription but no one seems to care.
Truth be told, I'm having a halfway decent time, although I don't know if I'll be saying the same thing once my three month placement is coming to an end. (A friend I haven't seen or spoken to in a long time works at the same nursery on Tuesdays so we had a nice catch up yesterday.) I'm only doing it because I have to and it was Childcare or Floristry and I don't think my allergies would be too happy with me surrounding myself with flowers four days a week. Thursday is training day in Derby and I can't say too much about it except last week I found myself staring at the clock when I wasn't shooting side glances at the cute guy sat next to me. (On that note, he's perfect. Dropped out of a fine art degree and now wants to be a primary school teacher which I find insanely adorable for some reason. He's quite pretty too.)
Grandad passed away on Sunday morning. We knew it was coming because we were given forty-eight hours notice before they turned off his machines (and even then we knew it was coming because there is no way he could come back from kidney failure, cancer, meningitis and a mini-stroke), but it didn't make it hurt any less. The funeral is next Friday and mum spent all day today with my nan getting the death certificate and planning the funeral. Only surprise, surprise she comes home to find dad in the foulest mood because she left him alone with the kids all day. I think it is disgusting, how she can't even go and arrange her own father's funeral (you know, because he fucking died and she's suppressing her need to grieve because she doesn't want to put a foot wrong and suffer the consequences) without him throwing a fit worthy of a three year old because no one is paying attention to him. I think he has some kind of abandonment issues (despite being fifty-two years old) and it is pathetic on so many levels. I've given up trying and I'm mastering the art of shutting myself away when I arrive home every evening because why should his melancholy bullshit affect the rest of us?
(Side note: I find it horribly depressing how expensive funerals are. Nan really wanted a motorbike and sidecar instead of a hearse because her and grandad used to ride around in one all the time when they were younger, but it would have cost her £600 she couldn't really afford instead of the £200 for a typical hearse. It is so sad, but you have to make allowances because money doesn't grow on trees. )
I need a fucking holiday.