It never ends.
It's times like this I really do despair.
Times when I look back over the past few weeks and cannot actually remember the last time I had a day when I was just at home. All day. My days off are tending to come up pairs. The last pair were spent in Birmingham having my teeth out. The pair before that were spent at a wedding. The pair before that were spent in London doing the kind of things I had been trying for a year to get the chance to do.
And on and on it goes. My days off at the moment are being planned in advance because I have to be somewhere. During the days inbetween, I frantically run around trying to get my life in some semblance of order just in time to jet off and do it all again. Meanwhile, the rest of it goes out the window. Laundry, housework, rest, phonecalls, social life, writing, planning, relatives, me-time - that all gets sacrificed at the altar of daily routine. Sleep, wake, coffee, work, collapse, bed. If I'm lucky I manage to squeeze a shower in somewhere. The laundry piles up; the washing up festers in the sink; the cats have started to forget who I am.
I've been at work now for... just over ten hours. I will still be here for well over another three. All I can think about is the fact that there are things I need to do at home. Not terribly important things, but just... things. They don't really matter, but they are MY things, goddammit, and I want to bloody do them! Things like finding the scissors! I had a pair of scissors and I can't find them. I haven't been able to find them all week, because I have been either at work or sleeping, but I want to find them because they are my scissors and I should be able to find them! What kind of a pathetic excuse for a human being am I if I can't even make time in my day to look for a pair of scissors?
I shall go home tonight, and if I am lucky I shall arrive home just before 11pm. Then I have seven hours until I have to get up again at 6am. Then I have to go back to work. Then when I get home I have to pack for a trip to Edinburgh. Do I want to spend this time looking for the scissors?
Hell no.
The other day I realised that I had lost my train pass, so I stayed at home for half an hour looking for it one morning when I was supposed to be leaving for work. So I was half an hour late because I was looking for my train pass. Why? Because there simply ISN'T TIME to do these things at any other time? It's like phone calls. I'm making phone calls to the utility companies and various other businesses from the work phone because I'm just not at home or awake at any other time. Just like I'm filling this in now while I'm at work, because there is JUST NOT ENOUGH TIME TO DO IT ANYWHERE ELSE.
Sometimes I think it's just me. Sometimes I think it's the modern world. Sometimes I think the universe is hiding my time under the sofa, like spare change or ball point pens, and one day I might actually find it.
Or I might not. I might be dead before I get the chance to look down the back of the cushions. But if I ever do I'll probably find the scissors there as well.
Times when I look back over the past few weeks and cannot actually remember the last time I had a day when I was just at home. All day. My days off are tending to come up pairs. The last pair were spent in Birmingham having my teeth out. The pair before that were spent at a wedding. The pair before that were spent in London doing the kind of things I had been trying for a year to get the chance to do.
And on and on it goes. My days off at the moment are being planned in advance because I have to be somewhere. During the days inbetween, I frantically run around trying to get my life in some semblance of order just in time to jet off and do it all again. Meanwhile, the rest of it goes out the window. Laundry, housework, rest, phonecalls, social life, writing, planning, relatives, me-time - that all gets sacrificed at the altar of daily routine. Sleep, wake, coffee, work, collapse, bed. If I'm lucky I manage to squeeze a shower in somewhere. The laundry piles up; the washing up festers in the sink; the cats have started to forget who I am.
I've been at work now for... just over ten hours. I will still be here for well over another three. All I can think about is the fact that there are things I need to do at home. Not terribly important things, but just... things. They don't really matter, but they are MY things, goddammit, and I want to bloody do them! Things like finding the scissors! I had a pair of scissors and I can't find them. I haven't been able to find them all week, because I have been either at work or sleeping, but I want to find them because they are my scissors and I should be able to find them! What kind of a pathetic excuse for a human being am I if I can't even make time in my day to look for a pair of scissors?
I shall go home tonight, and if I am lucky I shall arrive home just before 11pm. Then I have seven hours until I have to get up again at 6am. Then I have to go back to work. Then when I get home I have to pack for a trip to Edinburgh. Do I want to spend this time looking for the scissors?
Hell no.
The other day I realised that I had lost my train pass, so I stayed at home for half an hour looking for it one morning when I was supposed to be leaving for work. So I was half an hour late because I was looking for my train pass. Why? Because there simply ISN'T TIME to do these things at any other time? It's like phone calls. I'm making phone calls to the utility companies and various other businesses from the work phone because I'm just not at home or awake at any other time. Just like I'm filling this in now while I'm at work, because there is JUST NOT ENOUGH TIME TO DO IT ANYWHERE ELSE.
Sometimes I think it's just me. Sometimes I think it's the modern world. Sometimes I think the universe is hiding my time under the sofa, like spare change or ball point pens, and one day I might actually find it.
Or I might not. I might be dead before I get the chance to look down the back of the cushions. But if I ever do I'll probably find the scissors there as well.