There are ten days left in an idiotic sprint towards the end of the project I have been working on for the last year. Ten days to finish as much as possible, and get it to a point that I’m happy with. Notice I say “that I’m happy with”. I’m my own worst enemy. Some people seem to be happy turning up, working for a given amount of time, and walking away at the end. I’ve never been one of those people. Call it pride, call it idiocy, call it what you want.
It’s already 8:30pm, and I only just sat down. The evening has already mostly gone. I sometimes wonder how some people manage to watch television shows or whatever else they spend their evening doing. While I’m writing this my other half is helping our middle daughter with her homework. We also just finished tidying our youngest’s room – discovering seven water bottles, two plates, three glasses and two mugs in the process. We also filled a bin bag with rubbish she had been conventiently storing down the side of her bed, in a cavity between the bed and the wall. She looked at her feet while we told her that will not be happening again. We haven’t even tried to look in our middle girl’s bedroom – there are probably new life forms in there.
While all of the above unfolded, Miss 18 quietly walked up to me with an uneaten sandwich that’s been in the fridge for two days – it went to school with Miss 15, and came home unopened. Miss 18 assured me that “it will be fine” despite my warnings that the bread would probably have begun to go moldy by now. Let’s see how well her laziness does against a stale sandwich.
So. I have an hour or two to myself. An hour or two to try and erase the cares of the day. An hour or two to forget about the time and then discover it’s 1am and I have to be up in five hours. We all know I’ve never done THAT before.
If you see me online in a couple of hours time, shout at me.