Last week was one of those which are funnier after the event than living through it. It was a week of misunderstandings, miscommunications and misconceptions.
Cue the post I wanted to publish mid week:
“I’m irrationally angry. I know I am. I can feel the rant but can’t stop it. I want to vent. I need to vent – I need to go Mariah. I need to go diva – epic diva at that.
However, neither my liver nor my credit card can actually take me to the limit – both will fail me before I can calm down. It just isn’t in me though. I’m already bored of my inner dialogue, my soliloquy to divadom. In fact, I’m already over it. Therein lies the problem; I need to hold the anger ahead of a strategic management meeting tomorrow so I can go all red haired Scottish scary – think a short, dimply, spectacle-free Frankie Boyle. Enter stage left an impeccably dressed Irn Bru character assassin.
I get tediously bored trying to hold onto negative thoughts; my subconscious deals with negativity as though it’s a game of Tetris, everything has a place, you just have to put it there. I put my anger away and come out with solutions and lists. It’s my way. Damn that mantra “in with anger out with love”, it wins every sodding time.
I’m annoyed because it’s not one thing that’s set me off, it’s a culmination of 12 months of minor irritations. I only have myself to blame.
There’s only one thing left to do – music on loud (Mariah, Dionne, Shirley) and lists. Lots and lots of lists.”
The next day was almost worse than the one that brought out my inner diva. BUT, and that’s a gigantic BUT in capital letters – I let it all go. I left a meeting mid way through to go and gather my thoughts, my sanity and my temper. I then had another meeting where I could explain my frustrations.
As the week went on it became clear that there were a number of factors that had led to diva-gate. It was the fact that key personnel hadn’t asked the right people the right questions. I was the right person with the right information but no-one had asked me the right questions. With proper hindsight, I could have foreseen the issues ahead of time, this time I didn’t – next time I’ll know how to counter the idiocy before it begins.
It’s been a challenging week so far and today has gone beyond, way beyond taking the Michael.
And thus I wandered home, looked longingly at the box of wine, decided “later my pretty, later” and put the OBB kit on instead. It’s been a good night – I’ve lunged my way through the pyramid of doom, spinned my way through the women’s curling bronze medal match (go Team GB), and successfully planked for the designated 150 seconds (thank you Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits for the Metallica playlist). I now feel better about this week – it’s amazing how much life goes back into perspective when you’re wheezing for dear life whilst the little endomorphins rush around your body.
But today was a tough one – my default fantasy when office life is getting me down is to run away and join the circus. I have it all figured out – I’m the bombshell who gets fired out of a cannon wearing spandex outfits emblazoned with The Titanium Tempest. Hey, a girl’s gotta dream.
Anyway, my day started off with puddle avoidance, deteriorated into broken wifi routers, faulty laptops, disobedient developers, a depressing amount of yet-to-be-written policies and anarchy. I also have two members of staff on compassionate leave, another about to go on paternity leave and an alarming office plague that’s turning lovely people into feverish phlegm-spouters. I bought cookies and wasabi-flavoured crisps – it was the only sensible thing to do.
Now, where’s that spandex?
November sucks – there, I’ve said it, so it must be true.
I’ve barely blogged, barely shopped and barely slept. And I’ve not managed to hit the gym quite as often as I should and appear to have hit the wine considerably more – definitely more beaujolais than bufftastic.
November is our silly season; clients want the impossible, employees need to use up annual leave; and the whole office is like a plague-ship, hacking coughs and spectacular sneezefests are compulsory. Our nerds are praying for a zombie apocalypse or something that will destroy their need to meet a particularly imminent and immobile deadline; whilst the young ones are getting excited about the Christmas party and those that were born after the 1980s want to wear brash Christmas jumpers, those of us who lived through that decade shudder at the very thought. There are lunchtime gaggles around monitors with ASOS shopping baskets filling up quicker than you can say, “can you really wear a bra under that?”
And then I stop and remember, it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas…roll on December.
It all started with my spa day on Friday. I left my phone in my locker, and allowed myself to switch off, completely. This is usually very difficult for me – someone is usually texting, tweeting or emailing me and in this modern world we live in, I feel driven to respond almost immediately, because otherwise it’s rude.
Is it any wonder then that we burn out, or find it difficult to switch off and sleep? I’ve become programmed to deal with everything as it happens and constantly amend plans already in place to deal with the latest event. It’s not just me, it’s everyone I know.
But I know that I was run down and on the cusp of a burn out and so I begrudgingly booked myself in for the spa day. A day of total retreat and relaxation, with a 90 minute massage and a reflexology session thrown in for good measure. And I realised how good it was to be switched off from technology for a while. An unexpected delight came from the tea room menu – toast and marmite 🙂
So good in fact that it’s now Sunday evening, and I’m only just reading through emails, texts and tweets that have come in over the last 72 hours.
Instead I’ve spent my time listening to music, reading, exercising and have even managed a marathon ironing session. It’s been good for me.
I’m now ready to switch back on. Maybe I should ease my way in via online shopping? There’s worse ways to spend one’s time!
It’s been quite a year, 2013.
January started full of hope: this would be the year that I got fit and honed a body to be proud of; it would be the year that I perfected my work/life balance; it was to be the year that I started writing, seriously writing.
But it’s also been a year of loss, of stress and of responsibility.
So this year’s aims are adjusted: to grow and develop as a leader, cajoling and encouraging my team to up their game; to continue to work on achieving the body beautiful and remembering that perfection is just a notion in my head; and to strive for the work/life balance where following your heart as often as your head is possible.
I have lots to look forward to: a lovely long bank holiday weekend of rest and relaxation (and ironing); a 10 day holiday away with Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits; and some precious time with my parents who are coming to visit in October.
So that’s the heart taken care of; a protein shake and a sweat-inducing workout will take care of the body; and the mind, well – it’s not doing so badly after all.