I won't go on about how hot it is. Those of you who have witnessed my heat-induced malaise at first hand do not need to be reminded, and the rest of you do not need to be bored. Suffice to say, pushing a heavy poussette with about 25 kilos on board in temperatures edging 30 degrees is enough to make one expire.
I think I'm having a bit of a meltdown, which may or may not be heat-related. I think it's more likely shit-related. The Big Girl refuses to use a toilet and I've had some extremely loose stools to clean off her. It makes me feel actually sick, and desperate, and scared that I will have to do this forever. When she asks for a nappy I feel like I'm locked in.
So many people in Brussels have a firework display of languages to their name, and have degrees and degrees and possibly degrees. All I've done is work hard and learn a lot. In the UK this seemed to be enough - I worked for directors in a couple of jobs. Here, I'm not so sure. All I can hope is that the people with the sparkly languages and degrees in being fabulous will not be applying for the same jobs as me.
I don't want something sparkly. I just want a desk, a mug, some fairly interesting stuff to do and people to talk to, and to make myself quietly indispensable. I would like a proper lunch break rather than ten minutes in Square Ambiorix shovelling something from Carrefour down my face. I'd like never to look up someone's bumhole ever again.
I know, I chose this. Still there are no regrets, and I don't want to go back. I only want to go forward. I just need somewhere to go.