For some reason Thursdays have been ridiculous ever since we first had children. Every after-school-club in the known universe happens on Thursday nights. It’s like everybody that runs anything colluded with each other, just to run everybody into the ground.
It might have helped this week if I hadn’t written about six thousand lines of source code during the first half of the week, and then set about debugging it yesterday and today. There have been times over the last day or two when I’ve seriously started considering alternate career paths – you know, like any job that will eventually be replaced by a robot.
Actually, I wonder what jobs WILL be replaced by robots? Most factory work has already vanished. I’m guessing long distance lorry drivers will be the first casualties of the autonomous vehicle apocalypse, followed by taxi drivers. I imagine drones are going to replace all the TV helicopters pretty quickly too. Oh, and say goodbye to the postman. Looking forwards another 20 years, I wonder how long it will be until the first computers appear that are completely designed by computer ? Huge chunks of the CPU architecture are already optimised by computer (for reasons I won’t bore you with) – I wonder how long until we have a machine making a machine. Oh wait – that’s the beginning of Terminator, isn’t it?
Where was I.
Oh yes – Thursday nights. I get in from work on the bike, after running the gauntlet of idiot drivers through town. It will never cease to amaze me how invisible cyclists are to many car drivers. I may as well be wearing Harry Potter’s cloak. Of course they CAN see me – they just choose to ignore me as they drive straight at me through narrow streets, because OF COURSE they own the whole f*cking town. Just like all the other entitled ass-hats around here.
I arrive home just in time to wash up the pile of things nobody else thought about washing up all day, and manage to clear them before racing out of the door to pick up Miss 11 from her dance class. We walk home and have ten minutes to spare before turning around to take Miss 11 and Miss 12 to football practice. While they play football I walk home, warm up what’s left of the dinner that was made two hours earlier, and eat it before leaving again to pick them up from football. All the way back I argue with them about who is going to have a bath or a shower first, and have to stop myself talking because I realise a line has been crossed somewhere in the conversation.
Finally I’m sitting here, in the dark of the study writing this. The washing machine and dryer are on their second load of the night already. I’ve already cleared the kitchen for a second time since getting in. I imagine the lounge looks like a nuclear war happened again. I don’t even want to think about the kids bedrooms, which will no doubt look like a tramp might have been living in them for some time. I also won’t think about the fridge that I routinely have to half-empty into rubbish bags each week because nobody else seems to think being poisoned by mouldy leftovers is really that likely.
I guess this post didn’t so much slide downhill, as fall off a cliff.
At least now you know why I sometimes miss a day with the blog. Here’s hoping tomorrow will be a bit better – only I know it won’t, because all kinds of crap is already planned. Saturday is a nightmare too – football in the morning, shopping for new rugby boots in the afternoon, and then over to visit a friend (read: fall asleep on his couch) in the evening. Sunday will be Rugby practice, while trying to set fire to the washing machine and dryer in order to give the kids clean clothes for Monday. And then it will all start again.
Somebody stop the world. I want to get off for a bit.