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can't keep up
September 13, 2018, 8:15 P.M.

When the days started rushing by so fast I couldn't keep up, I switched to doing a more-or-less weekly post. Now the weeks are going by at a ridiculous clip. What do I do now?


I used the blessed excuse of a weekend work project to weasel out of going to Iowa for my dad's birthday party. And fortunately, the work project went very well, too--only took a few hours. Spouse worked all weekend, covering vacations. 10-hour days, too. With working Labor Day, that makes it a straight run of 12 days, come Friday. So he's tired and grumpy. But he made the best of it on Saturday--he and a couple of co-workers had another pot roast potluck. I, on the other hand, was off two Mondays in a row--so what's my excuse for being tired and grumpy? (Spoiler: it's work.)

As for the birthday, I don't even know if it came to pass. Haven't heard a peep from anyone on FB about it. And I haven't talked to Dad, so I haven't a clue. It may sound callous, but my Dad HATES that shit--parties, surprises, and any recognition of his birthday beyond a call or a card. And I effing hate my bitch-ass SSIL, so if her little schemes were thwarted, I'd be happy as a pig in shit.
As for my weekend--I used the time and the Spouse-free circumstances to a fair advantage. I had to work (from home, on a loaner laptop) Saturday afternoon, but I did a bunch of housework Saturday morning, and a bunch more Sunday morning. And on Sunday afternoon, I mowed the front and back yards. But no matter how hard I try, it is never more than a very small drop in a very big bucket. A very big, very LEAKY bucket.
I had another attack of gut-itis on Sunday after I mowed the lawn--that's twice in a row, I wonder if there is some weird connection? Anyway, I was in the middle of making dinner when it struck, and we ended up postponing our meal plans (country-style ribs and "little red potatoes") till Monday. I had already washed and cut up the potatoes, so Spouse got out the Food Saver and vacuum-sealed them so they wouldn't be ruined. (We figured out the first time he did the pressure cooker pot roast at work, you can peel all your veggies the night before and once they're vacummed, they stay perfect in the fridge for the following day.)

So Monday's dinner was figured out, and since I had done a lot of housework Saturday and Sunday, Monday got to be more of the vacation day it was supposed to be. I did run to Woody's and get my oil changed and did some grocery shopping, but I was only gone a couple hours.

I did my nails in the afternoon. Digging through my storage tub of polish, I found one that had been Mom's, and it looked like such a nice, grape-y purple, I couldn't resist. I have no idea what it is--there is zero labeling left on it. And given that it was Mom's it is A) pretty old, and B) pretty cheap. She was not the polish snob her daughter is; hers were always from one of the three Ds--the drugstore, the discount store, or the dollar store. So it isn't wearing well. But big deal--it isn't the type of color you want to wear for long, anyway. It made sense for her--she changed her polish every couple of days, anyway, to match her outfits.

Interesting to note--for me, anyway. I have been needing to actually CUT my nails every two weeks, this summer. It's been years since my nails grew long enough and strong enough to require cutting.

The weekly nail care I've been giving myself lately is an exercise in self-care. I am in the throes of a rather serious round of the twin demons, Anxiety & Depression. With all their accompanying baggage--anhedonia, insomnia, binge-eating, and the rest. It's a rough time. And yes, I do keep trying. As I said--the nails are part of that. Forcing myself to try and keep up the housework is, too.

Because I can't just give up. I fucking wish I could. The fact that I can't only adds another layer of desperation and misery to the whole "feeling trapped and helpless" thing.

But I know for a fact that the day I give up will be the day I REALLY GIVE UP. All the way up.

Hooray for high-functioning depressives. We make it look like nothing is wrong, right up to the day we eat our gun.
Some stuff about work that isn't making shit any better:
They are in the process of completely overhauling out time off, which will leave everyone starting 2019 with NO available PTO.
They just announced they are replacing most of our IT & tech support with outsourcing. Foreign outsourcing. These are people I have a long history and wonderful working relationships with, so as you can imagine, I am not taking this well.
The psycho-narcissist co-worker has gotten me to the point where I cry all the way home almost every day.
Those two SEA-HUNTS who are responsible for fucking up my work schedule are still up to their evil tricks, and despite my cursing them on a daily basis, continue to thrive and refuse to die.
That stupid office smells like a third-world outhouse all the time these days, and the asshole infant who sit on the other side of the cardboard wall from me are bag-ratting, chip-crunching, ice-biting, cougfhing, sneezing, sniffing little shits and I hate them.

Some stuff NOT about work that isn't making shit any better:
I haven't mustered the courage to cancel on my brother and GSIL yet, and it's eating me up inside.
I had two former co-workers die in one week. One of them, I just saw four days before she was killed in a motorcycle accident, and she was doing so well.

Reading: "The Clammer" (1906) and "The Meddlings of Eve" (1910), by William John Hopkins. These may be re-reads; they feel kind of familiar. But I don't specifically remember reading them.

Listening: Gerry Rafferty, "City to City".

Inked Up: Pilot Vanishing Point med. with Iroshizuku Yama Budo, the Conklin Duragraph fine with Pelikan 4001 Brilliant Brown, and Knox Gallileo fine nib with Rohrer & Klingner Blu Mare.

recede - proceed

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