When I switch off my work laptop in a few minutes, I won’t be switching it back on for a little over a week. Nine days. Two weekends, and the days in-between. Thinking about it, why isn’t there a name for that stretch of time.
I’m burning up the final days of my holiday allocation after a year working for months without stopping. A never ending sprint to single-handedly build a colossus. A “moon shot” project, where a successful outcome was never a guarantee - except of course I landed it, because, well… it was me, wasn’t it.
During the darker moments of the last few months I’ve questioned my ability to “return to the well” - not only in terms of working on complex solutions, but also the ability to keep learning new stuff. I have trouble remembering pretty much anything these days - I’m pretty sure each new “thing” that goes in one side of my head forces something else out the other. It’s frustrating.
Anyway.
I have a number of days stretched out in front of me, with nothing at all planned yet. I say yet, because my other half will no doubt populate the days with something - I just don’t know what. Errands. Odd jobs. Of course “nothing” is a misnomer to start with - because it includes all the usual chores - washing up, washing clothes, tidying up, hoovering, etc.
There’s a scene of “Apocalypse Now” proportions in the back garden that needs attention - if only to lift everybody’s spirits when opening the lounge curtains each morning, rather than dashing them spectacularly. I foresee several hours freezing my arse off while armed with loppers and secateurs.
There is a temptation to at least try and empty my head into the blog each day - to get back to something like an “almost every day” schedule of polluting the web with my words. Maybe I should try and write from somewhere different each day - a tour of nearby cafes and pubs?
In other news, we had a tree surgeon visit a world of destruction on the privet hedges at the front of our house this morning. Twenty-something-years ago, when we moved in, they were at about arm-pit height. After fighting a losing battle with their determined journey skyward, they had reached about seven feet tall, and had turned the approach to our house into a leafy cavern of sorts.
An hour of “attention” by a group of men with chainsaws and loppers saw our house transformed - much to my eldest daughter’s horror. Not only can we now see the outside world, the outside world can see our house too. I should probably explain that my daughter suffers quite considerably with social anxiety - I wouldn’t be surprised if she glues her curtains shut tonight.
I’m going to surprise my middle daughter with take-away food tonight. We’ve all had a hell of a week. It’s time to relax. Time for Dad to wave his magic wand and make delicious food appear at the front door.