Worrying discoveries

I have found out something rather disconcerting. Two people I work with read my blog. Eeek. It's funny, because I'm happy for my Mum to read my blog and indeed encourage it (well, no-one else leaves quite so many friendly comments) but work friends? Hell, half the time I'm at work *coughs hurriedly* err, thinking about work (yeah that's believable) as I blog. So it's just a tad concerning that these people are reading the comments I'm blithely putting down about my hopes and dreams (that I won't be working with them for too much longer - nothing personal guys!).

I had a conversation with my mum over Christmas about different relationships we have. We both agreed that the other one is easy to be with. This, for me, is because I am lucky that I have always been able to talk to my mum about pretty much anything - with one exception. Sex. Don't want it discussed.

Unlike when I was in my early teens and most definitely not sexually active when I felt it was completely appropriate to ask my mother absolutely everything I could think of - was she a virgin when she got married, how many people did she sleep with, how old was she, who was the first...

Wisely or not, she decided to treat me in a very mature fashion and answered all my questions fully and in great detail. I can't actually remember all the answers, but did think I was shockingly naughty to get all the juicy facts out of her.

My mum has always answered me fairly frankly. I was, what polite people would call a "precocious" child. Some would say a pain in the neck know-all. I would spend all my time reading books, full of burning questions. Didn't have too many friends but the ones I got I kept (just as well, they know wear the bodies are buried).

Here are some good questions I distinctly remember asking when I was little.

ME: Mum, is Jesus a man?
MUM, sounding nervous: Yes dear, why?
ME: I just wanted to check because when he comes back to be king of the world,I want to marry him and be queen of the world.

Hmm, early delusions of grandieur.

Anyway, going back to the point. I have a lot of people in my life and some of them are just exhausting to be around. My best friend, EM, I can completely be myself with. Not at all difficult company. My boyfriend, also easy to be with. But beyond that small circle, it gets harder.

My relationship with my uni friends is based more on performance - all relating to when we met and the place we were at. Being together is just fun. But you can't just sit down and watch TV. Oh no, it's all about besting each other. Which for me, usually involves doing ill-advised gymnastic manoeuvres in nightclubs (that's another story) which generally leads to much hilarity. On more than one occasion, it has also led to a certain amount of pain. My Dad, bless his cotton socks, needs a certain amount of praise and support all the time - my sister to some extent too. My brother I just fight with constantly because we are sort of fundamentally different. Or possibly too similar, I don't know.

As for my work friends, well, they're my bitches. (joking, will, if you're reading) Actually they're pretty easy work too.

I guess you need different people for different things - I guess I quite like being the centre of attention (no, really, I hear you scream) and that's part of me too, the flambuoyant performer. BUt sometimes I like to do veg out. And I always like to slag off other fat people (not real ones, celebrities. and occasionally weird people I write stories about), for which my immediate boss is an excellent companion.

Must go now, Lost finale is on. May blog immediately after with shock/confusion/disappointment/excitement/disgust....

No more Sawyer for months! I don't know how I will survive.