For the first time I have no sentences in my head. I desire everything. I'm achieving nothing.
Work is a heavy and frustrating thing with its repetitive tasks that are hurting my back, my hands and my heart. There are piles and piles of papers on my desk. I must work through them one at a time. My boss insists I prioritise this one lengthy terrible task yet all the other things do not stop. There are false offers of support with little to no follow through. There are senior colleagues making noises about other undone tasks who then rifle through all of my files and papers, leaning over me as I sit at my desk. There are emails about performance reviews from a boss who was handily absent for the busiest month of the year. There are too many things to be done.
In a movie, some kind of movie, I would go in early, I would stay late, I would work weekends. This is not a movie. I can't do that. I can barely manage 9 to 5 on weekdays.
I am exhausted. The Amazing Mystery Illness of Not Yet Death cuts my power cord at the close and open of each day. I am much improved and almost well but ragged painful exhaustion closes its hot toothed mouth around me when I least expect it.
My brother is cross with me for not driving to Katoomba on Tuesday night for his birthday dinner. My brother is cross that I did not somehow stave off exhaustion, work all day, attend my unavoidable 6pm appointment, go home, shower, change then drive for two hours to sit with him and my mother then drive home again. My mother is not answering when I phone.
My work expects me to begin a post graduate course at Deakin (off campus) in a week or two, in addition to my usual work. The deadline for manuscript is May. The current rewrite has 2000 words in it with the rest an incomplete first draft and notes. I am committed to training three times a week with Grizelda, I have to wash and cook and clean and sleep and read.
This is not depression, this is too much on my plate. This is me walking around with no support system and no lifelines. There is no hope of sudden redemption and the miraculous lifting of burdens. There's one way out and that's to work harder for longer and push away the illness and exhaustion. Swat it away like bees and wasps and stinging caterpillars. I'm looking around me at people with partners and for once its not the arms or the love I crave. Its someone to help with the washing, someone to sit by me and talk about what I should do and how I should do it. Someone who doesn't go home after coffee or dinner or a band and shake off my problems and settle into a chair with their loved ones asleep in the next room. Its never been clearer that I'm doing this by myself.
Work is a heavy and frustrating thing with its repetitive tasks that are hurting my back, my hands and my heart. There are piles and piles of papers on my desk. I must work through them one at a time. My boss insists I prioritise this one lengthy terrible task yet all the other things do not stop. There are false offers of support with little to no follow through. There are senior colleagues making noises about other undone tasks who then rifle through all of my files and papers, leaning over me as I sit at my desk. There are emails about performance reviews from a boss who was handily absent for the busiest month of the year. There are too many things to be done.
In a movie, some kind of movie, I would go in early, I would stay late, I would work weekends. This is not a movie. I can't do that. I can barely manage 9 to 5 on weekdays.
I am exhausted. The Amazing Mystery Illness of Not Yet Death cuts my power cord at the close and open of each day. I am much improved and almost well but ragged painful exhaustion closes its hot toothed mouth around me when I least expect it.
My brother is cross with me for not driving to Katoomba on Tuesday night for his birthday dinner. My brother is cross that I did not somehow stave off exhaustion, work all day, attend my unavoidable 6pm appointment, go home, shower, change then drive for two hours to sit with him and my mother then drive home again. My mother is not answering when I phone.
My work expects me to begin a post graduate course at Deakin (off campus) in a week or two, in addition to my usual work. The deadline for manuscript is May. The current rewrite has 2000 words in it with the rest an incomplete first draft and notes. I am committed to training three times a week with Grizelda, I have to wash and cook and clean and sleep and read.
This is not depression, this is too much on my plate. This is me walking around with no support system and no lifelines. There is no hope of sudden redemption and the miraculous lifting of burdens. There's one way out and that's to work harder for longer and push away the illness and exhaustion. Swat it away like bees and wasps and stinging caterpillars. I'm looking around me at people with partners and for once its not the arms or the love I crave. Its someone to help with the washing, someone to sit by me and talk about what I should do and how I should do it. Someone who doesn't go home after coffee or dinner or a band and shake off my problems and settle into a chair with their loved ones asleep in the next room. Its never been clearer that I'm doing this by myself.
Comments
Also it might be worth thinking about how u could work smarter instead of harder/longer cos that can be overwhelming thinking u need to start early and finish late and all the bloody rest of life that comes in.
Sending you some positive vibes across the sea... and don't worry too much about your family it will pass.. maybe you could do something unusual to surprise yr bro and make up for not making it on the day? post something or get something delivered? xxx
It gives you back your "B-B-Bounce", I have to prepare myself to be a Marine on Monday and fight in World War Two.
Rups xox :)