A number of things contrived to ruin my weekend. I hadn’t any plans other than the usual tedious chores and the sorting out of watchable television. (Don’t people get worried when you don’t have tv? Extraordinary.) Friday, however, shattered my mood and sleep failed to restore it. First thing is, sadly, my inability to complete all my allotted work tasks on Friday. I do hate hangover especially when the over includes a weekend. Second is the positive/negative of a job interview non interview. A non formal affair, as I understand it, to give me time to impress someone in the hopes that they will give me a job that I’m only partly experienced in, though I have nothing formal to back me up, and which contains large amounts of stuff that I have no experience in whatsoever. Because charming the pants off people to get good(ish) jobs is my forte… One day I will ask the person of wonderful faith who suggested and has arranged this where her confidence in me comes from. One or both of us may be drunk before this happens. Thirdly, work again – the overlap of own time and work time made awkward by social networking. The awkward overlap and my stupid wish to calm one of my juniors had me talking to her at midnight Friday about an incident from that morning. An incident that, incidentally, took my Friday morning’s work off its rails and really ought to have had nothing to do with me but that I have become the person everyone lays their troubles on. I am not a manager, I am not paid as a manager, yet I manage the staff and their problems. Which brings us back to point two. I am more than ready to captain my own ship and would prefer that to the half-and-half land I presently inhabit.
Friday set the tone for the whole of my weekend. I have been tense, irritated, and annoyed which has left me unproductive, restless, and un-rested. On Saturday I was short and snappy and utterly fed up with people and the bizarre games my family plays. I never quite understand why sometimes I am told everything and am sometimes so precious that I must not be told things lest they upset me. The irritation is more upsetting than the telling, to be honest, and all is pointless as my sister is completely incapable of keeping things to herself. The loading of other people’s problems onto my shoulders is wearying and I am supposed to have an infinite capacity to take it. My exhaustion suggests that infinity is failing or that no-one can count and I am staggering under the weight. Would that I could slough it off in the way that others find so easy. It ought not weigh me down, I ought not be bothered, I ought not take it into myself but it does and I am and I do. And it seems greatly unfair that the chronic unburdeners and the constant need for reassurance types never realise that the energy they take is mine and that they have it from generosity rather than right.
I think that next weekend I shall be unavailable to all unless there’s beer involved. I have had enough. I do not want to speak to anyone. I do not want to have to reassure anyone. I do not want to expend the empathy and energy that, unreciprocated, I give. I need a breather.