The gods are telling me I am alive

Sequence is too difficult.  Y’all get temporal potluck.

The essence of my current stress is the laundry list, to wit:

  • Too many rats live in my cage; one has to go, no matter how well behaved a rat he is
  • In a department of three, if one coworker departs the workload becomes untenable
  • When the coworker was unprofessionaly indolent, highlighting your behavior with dedicated professionalism is nearly obligatory
  • There are too many ongoing chores on my plate right now
  • The last week has had more social engagements than I know how to cope with (I kept balanced, but even good stress is stress)
  • Friday I was served with a summons to small claims court
  • The weekend was spent in impotent spinning
  • Monday I arranged a lawyer and a financial advisor to help us navigat this mess
  • I have, in the past week, told more people what my limits are than I am accustomed to in a year
  • I’ve been telling them in unapologetic, clear terms; explicite, concise, and strongly phrased.

Okay, I can see why I was having difficulty with sequence.  This all happened at once.  There have been professional, social, self-actualization, domestic, financial, legal, and child-rearing issues all in the last week.

I’ll catch up when and as I can, but y’know, I already have a novel to write, so some bits may remain shrouded in mystery.

Crossposted from Epinephrine & Sophistry

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