So I have literally had to decide that if I write something today, to be posted to cyberspace, then I will not have time to put the clean sheet, duvet cover and pillowcases on the bed before I go to sleep. And all I can say is: 'why care?'. I will not allow housework to prevent me from being able to write utter drivel! I slept on the bed without the sheet last night because the sheet was still drying, so what's one more night, eh?
This is what day-to-day life comes down to when you are working like crazy to pay the rent that is nearly two thirds of your average income. I have had the ingenious idea that I can save money by eating less this week: apples for lunch, rice and tinned tomatoes (and maybe a scrambled egg if I'm really pushing the boat out) for dinner, and lose some weight at the same time. Except I am aware of the 'dangers' of this clever plan; namely that if you don't eat enough and you're working like crazy while not getting enough sleep, you can be susceptible to illnesses. And if I get ill, I cannot afford to take time off. So that would be a bad idea. So I shall make sure I buy some extra fruit from the stall at the end of the road that sells (rather limitedly, in my opinion) strawberries and/or apricots for 29Kč a punnet. And I have got some grapefruit juice, so all is not lost.
It's a shame today had to be the day I found out the true cost of being a woman: six months' supply of the pill ordered from Blighty: £59.95. Bugger. Seriously, is that not the same cost as bloody flying over to the UK and stealing it from them myself? And I'm not (only) some floozy who needs it to prevent giving birth to subsequent potential floozies, I am in fact someone who will end up in hospital sooner or later if I don't take the damned blood clot-inducing pill, three packets in a row. (Yes, six months supply doesn't even mean a full six months for me...) All this in order to prevent the worst of what mother nature likes to present to me as 'excruciating period pain added to IBS' or, in other words: 'tummy ache double-whammy'.
Well, that's my hope of ever being able to save any money whatsoever, not even the savings I had (or emergency money in other, more accurate, terms) out the window for good. Good bye hope and potential scraping-by; hello poverty, my old friend, did you even leave my side for a second?
Ah, well, my meet-ee this morning seemed to think that the UK system of providing the pill free was completely unjustifiable, even looking at the money saved from potential teenage pregnancies leading to Mums having to be on benefits because the teenage 'Dad' scurried off. "Saving money?! Just cut the benefits, surely", he seemed to suggest. Ah, you can rely on a lawyer to not give a damn about hereditary dysmenorrhoea (severe period pain to those who speak English) and more about having the summer off to go and enjoy his manor house in the country.
Am I just an insufferable Leftie? Did Ben Elton mould me in my formative years to have a disdain for all things pretentious and irrelevant, in favour of a deep desire to uphold 'fairness' above all else? Oh, no! What will the world do with me now? Only the most severe punishment can set things straight, surely? Oh wait. It already has. £60 period pain prevention bill. Way to go!
P.S. I am sorry this has been a blog posting on housework and 'women's problems'. There is something wrong with me, obviously. If only I had spent my time hanging myself with the bed sheet instead of washing it, all would be well in the world.
Possibly.
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