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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Long day. Tiring week. Michael is living with us as he looks for work; temporary, on good behavior, and all like that … but is living here.

Shut up, Ed.

I’ve spent the last week being terrified that we were going to relive the last few months before he moved out. Not a good time. So, to keep that from happening, I kicked Michael out preemptively. Like, “Here is a list of things you used to do. Be a good house guest, don’t do any of them.”

Naturally, he did one. So: “Do it again, once, for any reason, and I’ll tell you to pack and you’ll be out before I go to bed that night. We won’t do this again. Get some self-control.”

And he did, or he’s cleaning up after himself well enough that I can’t tell without looking harder. Good enough.

This weekend he’s bussed back to Medford to visit his sweetie, who needs him badly, I think. Three days alone with my wife! Hooray!

In other news, I wrote about 400 words tonight, for a net advance of 11 words. I hate realizing that whole rafts of words have to go away.

Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry