It’s just a bit rubbish

So let me get it off my chest, and then I’ll deal with…

Work is frustrating – culminating in a virtual server which won’t even start SQL (owing to SAN issues) which renders it entirely useless. N’s team has lost a member (they faffed about renewing a contractor, so he went elsewhere at the worst possible moment for the project: you can’t blame him, the new job is 10 minutes from his house, and he has a small baby at home). N is very stressed.

I have Guide meetings every night this week apart from tomorrow. They’re brilliant, But it’s a bit full-on.

There’s a tube strike.

The late start of one of the meetings, tonight, means that, on the plus side I get supper (cheesy pasta) but on the minus I can’t get over to N’s to help with his Dad tomorrow without getting a train that wouldn’t get me there until about 11pm. I have a deployment at 8am tomorrow, which doesn’t exactly help matters. And on Thursday as well. And on Wednesday next week.

Annual Guiding census is causing the usual annual Guiding headaches, as various bank accounts that aren’t in order suddenly come out of the woodwork….that caused a nifty stress session in the past 24 hours of its own. I was also dealing with 4 simultaneous IM conversations at work. No wonder I needed a run at lunchtime.

At least I stay in my jammies all tomorrow. WFH. Win.

But, the thing is, I feel like I’m not pulling my weight with N’s Dad, I can’t work out anything practical I can do for support, I don’t quite know how to support (being there and providing hugs is Better than Nothing, but feels pretty bloody ineffectual) and just WAH! Plus, I hear, he’s in a room on his own most of the time, no TV (does have the radio we got him, which he apparently enjoys – N is going to gently broach the subject of TV etc), he’s the type that doesn’t ask, and his wife is just bewildered by it all. He doesn’t have a table, and I don’t think he can manage drinks without help anymore. He’s just stuck, but lucid. Have we missed the RSPB big bird watch thing for this year? What can we do for someone who is stuck in the downstairs office for the rest of his life? 

And then I worry about my Dad, who’s definitely not as he was – but the steroids seem to be working (although his temper is difficult to cope with) so he’s not totally decrepit, and just imagining how ghastly it will be when (because it’s most like to be when) he succumbs to alzheimer’s like his mother did – there’s not going to be gentleness at all. And then, in about half a century, it’ll be my turn for it, and that terrifies me too.

It’s all dealable with when work isn’t causing chaos. But work throwing chaos in (the amount of overtime N’s got in view for the next few weeks is scary), and that makes it rather harder to cope with.

Carry on. We’ll cope. We may just need a tad more gin (and that’s rationed, what with the running. Come March, it needs to go off the menu entirely). No-one ever said it was going to be easy, after all. And it’ll be a darn site easier if I eat my cheesy pasta supper before it goes cold, so I’m going to do that, and then I’m going to have some squash, and the rest of the Curly Wurly that I didn’t finish at the weekend.


One thought on “It’s just a bit rubbish

  1. ((hug)) Fifty years is a pretty lifetime away. Five decades of medical research away. (I’m not going to count the months, weeks, days or minutes; it gets complicated).
    Will have a think about ideas for N’s dad. The big garden birdwatch is over, but there are still birds to be watched…

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