On Monday, it was back to work. Despite working more than 50 unpaid hours during the Easter break and thus feeling smugly up-to-date, I was overwhelmed and exhausted after a mere two hours. In addition, we were having an alarm fitted at home and there was something wrong with it, which caused a delay, followed by problems programming it, which caused a further delay. The process ended up taking the entire day. We were confined to the lounge, lest we set it off, and I couldn’t get on with things. I went to bed feeling stressed and knackered.
On Tuesday, I stayed later at work to try and make some headway with my ever-expanding to-do list. I felt so muddled that I was completely unproductive and achieved nothing. I haven’t seen my sewing machine since we moved. I asked my husband where it was. “I took it to the dump” he replied.
On Wednesday, I had to go back to work in the evening. I wrote out a new to-do list in a new Action notebook in the hope of clearing my addled brain. It ran to three pages and continued to grow. After work, I picked up my elder daughter, took her friend home and didn’t get in until half past ten at night.
On Thursday, I resolved to make my way through the to-do list. I started at 8.00am, I stopped at midnight (note the use of the word stopped, not finished). My elder daughter came home and wouldn’t speak to me because I had refused to collect her from the station. I also received a parking penalty (my first in 30 years of driving) for parking across my friend’s drive when I visited her on her birthday last week.
On Friday, for about the fifth or sixth time, the dustmen didn’t take all our rubbish. This is despite me conscientiously sorting it into five different receptacles. My younger daughter failed her GCSE maths exam by one, yes one, mark.
It is now 11.30am on Saturday morning. I have been working at the computer since 8.00am trying to get on top of things so that I have a fighting chance next week. I have just read an email saying we have a ten day mock-inspection next month. I am still in my dressing gown.
Every day this week, I have either been working or sitting in traffic in torrential rain trying to get to and from work. My seven mile journey has been taking 50 minutes to one hour and over three quarters of a tank of petrol. I have had to park nearer, in the car park, thus incurring parking charges. I have had to renew my car insurance and road tax and pay the aforementioned penalty. My bank account is empty.
Roll on next week!