Out for the count…

or so I hope to be very shortly.

After yet another morning of chaos, I’m home and lunched and ready to keel over for a few hours.

I planned to do that yesterday afternoon but a phone call stopped that. I had a call from friends I’d not seen since 1998 (I think) and they came over. It was wonderful to see them. But I didn’t get my snooze.

I’d hoped to have some information about what classes I’m going to get next week as I have also some extra lessons to teach in the afternoons, of two hours each. Despite two emails begging for a clue as to how many and what level, I’ve not had a single reply and so the possible window for planning at least for Monday is closing very fast. I’m working till 9.30pm on Sunday so any planning will have to be done either today or tomorrow or else I just have to try and plan when I get home from 13+ hours trogging round London.

I think the nap is the best thing for me right now, don’t you?  It’s a pity you can’t store sleep somewhere in the body, the way the liver stores glycogen for later use as glucose when it’s needed. There’s another design flaw in the human body God never ironed out…

Three wishes

I have posted this before but I can’t remember where.

I got soaked right through today not so much by the torrential rain as by the cars whizzing through puddles at the side of the road and sending massive sprays of fithy water all over me.

I am deeply weary tonight on all levels. One of my colleagues who I value highly quit today. She quit for the same sort of reasons I would quit were it not for sheer cussedness and determination not to be forced out.

Anyway, those over a certain age in the Uk may remember a brand of bubble baths and soaps called Three Wishes, which was marketted as being something from a fairytale. Mine are from a rather Grimmer Fairytale, I think.

Three wishes.

 

Every time I reach breaking point,

I find that I do not break.

Every time I reach the end of my tether,

I find that the tether is made of elastic.

Every time I think in pain I can’t go on,

I find that somehow against the odds, I do.

Sometimes I wish that I might break,

Shattering into a million relieved fragments,

Sparkling like road-crash diamonds

Both beautiful and horrible at once.

I wish that when I feel that collar

Press and pull my aching throat,

That it would snap, burst asunder

And leave me sprawling on the ground.

And I wish more than anything,

That when I feel I can’t possibly go on,

Tired and worn from trying too hard,

I might be given grace and space to stop.

 

Too tired to…

…do anything, much…

But I still have to write my lesson plan for tomorrow, despite the fact that frankly today’s was a complete waste of time. No one let us know in advance that the highest level class was pre-Intermediate at best. I got the second from bottom, a little above elementary. One of my colleagues had brought in Intermediate work, on the assumption that since the age we’d been told was 14/15 years old, that was roughly the level. I didn’t see her at break to find out how she got on; she got the lowest class.

The kids were nice, though, and I know their teachers from the last two years. But due to yet another administrative blunder, there were insufficient staff to cover the afternoon activities, so I stepped manfully into the breach. I’ve walked miles, this afternoon, as well as the miles to and from school. Plus, (wah!) I didn’t expect to be doing anything but going home at lunchtime, I had no lunch with me, I had my briefcase and not my rucksack, and I hadn’t put any suncream on. So I got home at about half five, ravenously hungry, sun burned and with aching hands from carrying a heavy briefcase all day.

I’ve now eaten, soothed the burns with aftersun and my hands sort of work again, and I’m putting off the moment when I begin my lesson plan for tomorrow. There’s been a lot of things to annoy me today but these are the few I feel I can share.

Once I’ve done my plan, and maybe the one for Thursday, I’m running a bath and turning into a jellyfish…

Just too damn tired…

That’s me.

I’m off today, no work. My last assignment with the recent group was yesterday afternoon, and it brought a rather nice week to a pleasant close. I’ve totted up my hours and this week I’ve worked 23 hours. It doesn’t sound a lot; it’s at the top end of what people think of as part time. But I was dead on my feet when I got home last night, as I have been every evening this week and last week.

This morning, I thought I would surely feel a bit better as I’ve got today at home but already (it’s not even 9am yet) I want to go back to bed. The domestic chores are seeming like another mountain to climb and it’s been like this for ever, it seems. I manage to maintain the basics of laundry, cooking, cleaning and so on, but I never want to start to tackle what is loosely termed “home improvements” like painting or decorating. I just cannot face it. I can’t face the disruption or the monumental effort it would take me to start and then complete a project. The house is a mess. I maintain a certain level of mess I can live with but I have a terrible unease if anyone visits because I feel insecure about it.

But I simply have no energy for the kind of thing other people seem to come home from work to get on with, and even enjoy doing. When I get home, I want to eat and turn into a vegetable either in front of the TV or the PC, and then go to bed by about 9pm. Last night I got home about sixish and had a cup of tea and then took the dog out. When I got back, my legs were hurting so much I had trouble getting up the stairs. I cooked dinner for my daughter and had something ready for my husband who got it shortly after nine.

I simply don’t know how I’m going to cope in July and August when I need to work seven days a week while the work is there, to cover for the winter months when there is no work at all. Added to this, the new regime dictates I have to produce a detailed lesson plan for every lesson I teach. This means a good half an hour to an hour every evening to prepare. When I do excursions at the weekends, I’m often not home till 9.30pm. If I don’t produce plans to the standard asked for, I’ll get asked (read: ordered) to do them again. I get the same rate as I got last year even though I’m being asked to do more.

I don’t understand how people manage to work full time, keep up with the domestic chores as well as home improvements, and all the rest of the things other people seem to do. I’m starting to feel like an inferior human being because I just can’t do it. I make excuses for myself all the time but in the end, I just fail to keep up.