Can’t even think of a title

It’s been a shitty couple of weeks. Long and shitty with short bursts of not shittyness. Also not sure where to start even talking about it so bear with meThere’s work. On the surface its the usual bin fire of corporate ineptitude but that’s been the case in every place I’ve ever worked so it’s frustrating that situations I would have previously breezed through on a tide of competitive swearing and chain-smoking are now much more difficult. One entire meeting took all of my brain power for one day – it’s one of those meetings where I had to keep asking the questions, what would you do next, how do we fix that, why is that a problem. In reality my brain feels like it desperately needs someone else to be asking these questions or even thinking of these questions. I don’t think I’m particularly good at my job – a lack of finesse and an overabundance of bloody mindedness will get you further than you’d think but I don’t think of myself as particularly skilled at anything. Regardless of whether I am capable though I don’t understand people who physically and metaphorically shrug their shoulders at the simple concept of just doing the job they are paid to do. Again I can’t help but think that this is something that everybody goes through – every office has it’s quote of fuckwits but not everybody cries hot, angry tears of frustration at having just…made..it…through…a…meeting. Thank fuck I work at home or I would be that weird woman in the office that cries.Productivity reached a spectacular new low when I was having to work in shifts – 30 minutes on, 30 mins off. I couldn’t consume any information or do anything I was supposed to be doing so I chose small tasks that didn’t require interaction with humans. I’ve long given up answering the telephone anyway and instant messaging gets put on Do Not Disturb but for me that’s the equivalent of posting about quitting a Facebook group and everyone replies saying “Are u OK, hun”.I have been sleeping better – we made the heartbreaking decision to stop our dog sleeping on the bed. He has to be paid in biscuits every night to sleep on his own bed but it seems to help to not have to wrestle 25kg of dog just to turn over. I have probably cursed myself again as I smugly said at the start of the week that I had been sleeping better. Obviously that was the wrong thing to say as I woke up a couple of times, and violently willed myself back to sleep but that stopped working at around 4am. I know the perceived wisdom is not to look at your phone in the dark but I now find it strangely comforting. I tend to run out of Twitter quickly though so often find myself scrolling through old photos on my phone. I suspect I’m looking for reminders of normal. There are some in there when I can see times I remember not feeling broken, and dangerously close to happy. Other images I realise I must have been broken because I don’t remember the context or where I was. Noted that I might have been shitfaced in a couple of them but there are gaps around them, like I don’t know what my life was at that point in time. I still feel like that now – like all my energy is going into existing, that there’s no battery left for memories. I’m constantly on low battery mode, saving precious power for critical functions. Even that doesn’t always work. I went a solid five days without showering – while this is a personal record – it’s probably not something I should be proud of. I should be able to put toothpaste on my toothbrush and wash the 3 inches of hair that I do have.I wonder if this maintenance level humanity is starting to affect those around me, or at least affecting how I am with them. I’ve a good friend who’s been battling for a lot longer and a lot harder than me. I’ve always been with them and felt like I could help them but this week I missed a signal, a tiny sign that all was not well. When they felt well enough to say hey, I was in a bad way, it’s like a kick in the nuts that I’d let them down. My head had been so far up my own arse that I forgotten to reach out. The strange thing was that when the guilt had passed,  it actually cleared my own fog for a moment, giving me something else to focus on or at least someone else to cling onto.  The hair-trigger rage is also starting to target some innocent victims as well. I’ve had a couple of moments where I think it might be better to just cut myself off. I can’t help but think how tedious it must be to deal with me and whether I might save some of that precious energy not over thinking every conversation or reacting badly to nothing. I also feel like I mustn’t be great to spend any time with – I’m a joy free zone a lot of the time, angsty and itchy.  Even when I do feel ok it doesn’t take much for my mood to go south quickly. It’s that calorie burn again as well, which becomes physical as well mental. Watching someone sleep is for psychos but I can’t do a full day in one go – there has to be napping but I would be lonely when that person you’re with is effectively absent while the sun is shining. I’m sure I need things from people around me but I don’t know or what to ask for – it’s like work, I need people to start finding some solutions for me. It doesn’t need to be complex, the simple matrix that is my functioning brain at the moment needs the equivalent nothing more than an emotional pot noodle but I need someone to choose the pot noodle for me. I’ve never been good at asking for help and I doubt that is going to change any time soon.This has taken at least one football match and two episodes of Queer Eye to write but will probably come down on the short side of a three-minute read. That’s a pretty accurate metaphor for life right now.