don't drink and blog

It's a good rule but, like all rules, it exists to be broken. Since we came to terms with my IBS I have cut back on my alcohol intake, which means that I haven't been drinking every day (yes, I apologise if you are one of those people who immediately panics when they hear that people drink every day but it is possible to imbibe every day and not be an alcoholic - unless I am an alcoholic, in which case, meh!). Anyhoo, I haven't been drinking much. Except it is Friday and, due to a set of circumstances that I might get round to explaining, I have gunned my way through two bottles of Sol and am halfway through my third, with the fourth, fifth, sixth, (up to) twelfth in the fridge. Nikos is watching Transformers (for the 39th time), Maria and Dani are on the laptop, so I'm free to bang out a stream of consciousness on here.

Here goes.

First thing first while I've just mentioned  I love my mum. I didn't used to, when I could see her any time I wanted, when I could pick up the phone, when she could interfere any time she wanted to. Then she was annoying. Now, that we are 5000+ miles apart I have learned to love my mum - and miss her. Of course, I know that the minute I actually get to be in a room with her she will probably annoy the fuck out of me. Anyhoo, I love my mum. And I write to her every week (or phone her). Last week I sent her a copy of the IBS post. She sat on the email for three days and then replied:

My dear William,

Having read and re-read your 'opening up', I just wish to God you had done this years ago.  How was anyone ever going to be able to help you, not knowing what you were going through and not knowing that all you needed was a little tender loving care?
[cut]
Where IBS comes in I'm not sure, but it would seem that if you can now cure this with diet and mentally put all else behind you, doing what YOU want to and coming to terms with your OWN life, I can only offer you what support I can from a distance and hoping that your future will be more settled than have the past 22 years.

Which is just brilliant! Personally she hits a certain nail on the head: "How was anyone ever going to be able to help you, not knowing what you were going through and not knowing that all you needed was a little tender loving care?" Can anyone take a guess why I left England and am now in Mexico? Of course she then rambles on in her email about the weather/the garden/my brothers/my sister and then, casually, throws in that my cousin's son is back home from Afghanistan, where he has been on patrol. Could I add him to my prayers? As they are all hoping that he will one day walk again. Gotta lurve my mum.

We've had the kids for the last week. The main problem has been money. My last teaching job in England earned me 34,000 GBP sterling a year. Which was nice. There is a lot of arguments about how little teachers earn and I realise that a couple of my readers will jump down my throat if I, so much as, hint that teachers earn enough. Of course they don't. Teachers work 12/14 hour days. Added to this they also work Saturdays/Sundays. There are points, in a term/semester, that I have worked over 16 hours a day. But, and here's the killer, teachers do get 10 weeks holiday a year. Do the hours balance out? I dunno. There are the added minuses - whenever a teacher is on holiday, holidays cost a hell of a lot more. All teachers will also tell you that the first week/two weeks of holiday are normally spent in bed, dying. But, and here's the kicker, I'd have done more and casually accepted less money. And that's the fact that everyone knows. Teachers will do more, will accept less, because it's a vocation. and, if it ain't a vocation, then they will be the first person to moan about the money. All of that said, I earn a lot less, here in Mexico - divide by four and subtract a bit and you get a bit nearer. The cost of living is a lot less in Mexico but it ain't four times less. This means that, occasionally (once every to weeks) Maria and I are a bit tight for money. We live like students - big pot of beans, lots of pot (rammen) noodles.We keep the children away from this. Whenever they come here, there is no problem with money. They eat well, they do what they want, life is cool. And then my school fucked me over. I haven't been paid this month. Now, I have my problems with Maria's ex. The accusations of being a paedophile aside. But, for a man who flies off the handle when he's heard that "the children were left" with me, he seems quite happy to dump the kids on us whenever he wants - hot date in San Diego? Leave the kids with Will. Gotta go to Japan? Leave the kids with Will. Fed up with the kids? Leave them with Will. Problems at school? Blame Will. Nightmares? Blame Will. Kids have a cold? Blame Will. Anyhoo, the kids have been with us for a week, a week that I haven't been paid, a week that it has been slightly difficult to feed us...and them. Normally it would be no problem but the not being paid has been a bitch. I feel so fucking guilty. But, I hear you asking, how come you are drinking beer? Because, surprise surprise, Maria got paid today. Eh? Yes, the job she finished, a year ago, has just paid her. We tried to get across the border, go see a philum, go out for a meal. But, by the time we cashed the cheque, the queue for the border was four hours. Instead, after asking the kids, we bought makeup, we bought a WALL*E toy, we bought pizzas, we bought beer!

And I could rant some more. I could tell you that you really should be reading (s)wine. Except you shouldn't. You know that moment when you come across a blog and the writing is so good it scares you, puts you in your place, makes you realise that you're just typing, whereas someone is actually writing. Maybe you shouldn't be reading (s)wine - he scares the fuck out of me.

I could tell you that you should be commenting on Maria's blog. Telling her to post more!

I could tell you that I still haven't come to terms with Mexican banks - or the casual way that I haven't been paid for this month.

I could tell you about Dave McKean exhibition that we haven't gone to - yet!

But, the kids want to watch something together. So, I need to haul my ass (arse) into the television room and settle down in front of Nim's Island. I'll take my beer! [don't tell the kids but I also have Reality Bites].

Comments

[momentofchoice]

aww come on, (s)wine's not so scary. and yay for reality bites. and pizza and beer. and getting paid on occasion.

[(S)wine]

first, thank you for the kind words.
second, a long email to follow...but not this weekend. the little tornado is with us until Sunday night.