The holiday was supposed to calm me down, be an oasis in this desert of busy-ness and lots of niggling little things that nibble away at me like mosquitoes. But it wasn't. The holiday itself was well enough. But the coming back to this chaos filled me with some vague nameless rage where I find it difficult to be civil, even a little civil and I've taken to avoiding people because they (without meaning to, of course) drain me.
There is so much work to do and the work is not going to let up until New Year's Adam. And possibly after that. And I don't feel equal to it. And I don't care about it.
And all I want to do is snuggle under the covers and sleep for longer. Or read trashy novels about bakeries (I am craving freshly-baked focaccia for no discernible reason) or cafes or wrap presents (actually I'm avoiding this because my room has degenerated into a scary tip and I find it safer to be outside of it).
I sent out a whole bunch of cards while I was in Australia. Not nearly enough cards because I have lost my major address book which has disappeared somewhere in that slush pile which I need to sort through carefully, patiently to make some headway.
No headway so far.
Elliott has come out into the hall to curl up on his green bed so he can be close to me. He has difficulty figuring out where I'm going to sleep and until I switch off the light, he has one eye open to regard me quizzically every time I move. I need to move though.
I need to shower.
And tomorrow we're taking off to Klang for a brainstorming session. I need to get directions as I don't know how to get there.
All I know is I'm tired and grumpy and I would rather sleep in. Late.
I can't believe that after two weeks off I'm back to feeling this way, even worse than when I left.
I just can't believe it!
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