Morning, all.
I’m still in utter disbelief that Her Cunticularness is refusing to work. At anything. Ever.
My early years were very privileged - I had a nanny (as had my father, grandmother, mother and so on). When my parents lost all their money in the 1987 crash, we became poor. Very poor indeed. So, from the age of 13, I went out to work. I started tutoring kids in our local Asian community. I worked in shops and later in pubs, bars and restaurants. I would quite often start at 11 and finish at 12. Even now, with the fibromyalgia nAlice claims she has, I work at least 20 hours a week, teaching one-to-one classes. I find that it helps my mental health to be involved in the education of the young. Without it, I would feel desolate and unmoored, unmotivated and miserable.
My health needs are real. Confirmed ME, fibromyalgia, arthritis and a disintegrating spine. Autism, which makes the world more difficult to process. I’m privileged to live in a beautiful Georgian house, though I must navigate my father’s narcissism and cruelty, and my mother’s misery, every day. But I pay my way. I’d have absolutely no self-respect otherwise.
Alice has got hold of the belief that she is somehow too gracious to work. I believe it is a product of her narcissism. If she has to get an ordinary job and be among ordinary people, she will no longer be ‘special’ and ‘extraordinary’. Hence the scattergun approach to reasonable expectations that she work to support herself: it’s the ‘babies’, and her myriad illnesses, and *he* should work rather than she, and she is going through the ‘worst thing a woman can ever experience’. (It really isn’t, Alice: rape, cancer, domestic violence are all worse than divorce.) I wonder what her mother would think about Alice’s level of entitlement? Would she support her, or would she show scorn and derision for her daughter’s poor choices? I’m betting it’s the latter. Alice might want to think about that.
Sorry for the ramble, all; a very bad night’s sleep, as I’ve run out of 5HTP…
I’m still in utter disbelief that Her Cunticularness is refusing to work. At anything. Ever.
My early years were very privileged - I had a nanny (as had my father, grandmother, mother and so on). When my parents lost all their money in the 1987 crash, we became poor. Very poor indeed. So, from the age of 13, I went out to work. I started tutoring kids in our local Asian community. I worked in shops and later in pubs, bars and restaurants. I would quite often start at 11 and finish at 12. Even now, with the fibromyalgia nAlice claims she has, I work at least 20 hours a week, teaching one-to-one classes. I find that it helps my mental health to be involved in the education of the young. Without it, I would feel desolate and unmoored, unmotivated and miserable.
My health needs are real. Confirmed ME, fibromyalgia, arthritis and a disintegrating spine. Autism, which makes the world more difficult to process. I’m privileged to live in a beautiful Georgian house, though I must navigate my father’s narcissism and cruelty, and my mother’s misery, every day. But I pay my way. I’d have absolutely no self-respect otherwise.
Alice has got hold of the belief that she is somehow too gracious to work. I believe it is a product of her narcissism. If she has to get an ordinary job and be among ordinary people, she will no longer be ‘special’ and ‘extraordinary’. Hence the scattergun approach to reasonable expectations that she work to support herself: it’s the ‘babies’, and her myriad illnesses, and *he* should work rather than she, and she is going through the ‘worst thing a woman can ever experience’. (It really isn’t, Alice: rape, cancer, domestic violence are all worse than divorce.) I wonder what her mother would think about Alice’s level of entitlement? Would she support her, or would she show scorn and derision for her daughter’s poor choices? I’m betting it’s the latter. Alice might want to think about that.
Sorry for the ramble, all; a very bad night’s sleep, as I’ve run out of 5HTP…
xx
what a 
will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64 
