Crap, crap, crap

Yesterday I turned 31, not normally something that bothers me, but I start to take exception when I get ill on my birthday. I was so bad that Rob had to take the day off work to look after Jake, who was running a temperature and feeling sorry for himself all day (well I guess that makes 2 of us). I love birthdays I do, and as a rule I celebrate them from the weekend before to the weekend after and I spent all day feeling sick as a dog with an arse like a wet racecourse.

You can imagine that didn't please me too much and if yesterday I thought I couldn't feel any worse, today sure came up and bit me on the arse - it was SOOOO much worse

[selfindulgent rant] For the last 6 weeks or so I have been trying to find a job, a big step for me after being unable to work due to mental illness for many years. I have taken each knock back and rejection on the chin and last friday I was offered some temporary work for really crappy money (after childcare I would be earning less than £2 an hour), but the hours were do-able and I thought it might be a good career move as it would get something up to date on my CV (resume). I called the agency up and told them I was interested but I couldn't start on Monday as it was my birthday and already had plans. They said that's ok as there were a few that were starting on Tuesday and we'd just start our training then.

So I hauled myself out of my sick bed yesterday to go down to the agency and fill out all the official paperwork that took over an HOUR *chunder* No birthday meal for me with the family as I was so ill. Birthday ruined.

Anyways, skip to this morning and Jake had me awake at 5am but did go back to sleep(he doesn't normally rise until between 8 and 9am, so with an ill mum that's a shock to the system) and thankfully I did, Rob had to get up for work at 5:30 and after he left I had to get up and get myself and the little man up at 7 and out the door to get to my childminders' for 8:30. I did all this spectacularly well (surprisingly enough as i'm SOOO not a morning person) and managed to get to the office for 9:20am, 40 minutes early.

After showing my ID and filling out all the forms and getting my security pass I head down the road to get a coffee. I arrived back in good time and wait to be collected with another new starter. The bloke turns up and tells us that there's been "some sort of mix-up" and we wouldn't be able to work as we were ALL supposed to start on Monday. Not only was I pissed off about just been rejected for potentially 6 WHOLE FUCKING WEEKS work, I had just had to spend all my birthday money on clothes for this sodding job, pay for 2 taxis there and back (Rob had my car as his was in the garage today) AND arrange childcare at literally a moment's notice, I'd been pulling rabbits out of hats all weekend, and for WHAT???

So I try and get my head into positive mode and think "hey, at least the bad luck's just happened to me, Rob should get all the good luck for hs really important job interview today" - the law of balance and all that.

So I leave it as long as I can before I call Rob at work and give him the bad news. He goes off to his interview and around 4pm (the time that he was supposed to be going in) Claire and I are sitting in her lounge, her holding my engagement ring and me holding my wedding ring and I'm chanting for good luck. 4:30pm THE PHONE RINGS and I know it's not good news. This position had previously been held by a friend of ours that has now migrated to Spain and he knew that Rob could do this job standing on his head blindfolded. The pay difference between where he works now and this place was a lifechanging amount - potentially almost twice his regular salary. So knowing how much this means to our family is just untold amounts of pressure on my poor hubby - which he doesn't deal with too well at the best of times. Anyways he gets in the interview, they start asking questions and he just blanks out. Eventually he regretfully gives them his apologies and says that his nerves have gotten the better of him and leaves.

AS.IF.OUR.DAY.CAN'T.GET.ANY.WORSE...

Rob calls me up outside and breaks the news to me. I'm dying inside by this time and I am thinking that I want the day over and done with NOW. Rob says he's got to go and collect his car from the garage so he's gonna get the train and go get it. So I get a phonecall sometime later to tell me that the brake pads and discs needed replacing and they were working on it now. Thing is Rob had only just changed the pads less than 2 weeks ago, but he hadn't realised that the discs were shagged and that they would damage the new pads.

This has now cost us £110, for what we thought would only cost us £40.

So this has officially been the worst week this year and the worst birthday for a long time.
[/self indulgent rant]