This should probably be three posts, but I’m too tired of dealing with it to break it out. I may or may not edit it into decent shape — some day. This is the culmination of three months’ events, so just try to suss it out or go read Girl Genius or something.
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
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