So. After what feels like weeks – in fact, I see, it’s only been nine days – I am back in the barn. Back at my ‘desk’. Back at the laptop. Back that this very white, very blank page.
Since we moved here, over a year ago now, I have struggled with scheduling. There’s always some ‘spanner in the works’ – construction, weather, dogs, visitors, weather (yes, I know I said it twice; trust me, the weather deserves a second mention. . .). The man is not so bothered by this. The man – and, believe me, I do envy this about him – is one of those people who can stay in bed until nine in the morning. He’s one of those people who got to work ‘around nine’ back in his days of being an office monkey. He would leave at five some days or six or seven. Whenever. It didn’t really bother him. He would have ‘sammiches’ at this desk and then have a little snooze.
Me? Me, not so much.
If I left the house later than six, I was running late. If I was at my desk later than half-seven, my whole day was blown. I didn’t like ‘taking lunch’ and would do just about anything in my power to avoid going out to lunch with people. And, in truth, if I left the office later than six, I was not a happy camper. I liked a fixed, reliable schedule. ‘On’ hours and ‘off’ hours.
In the end, did it make much difference?
No. Given our age difference, I would say we were probably equally successful. I made more money, but that’s a matter of job sector, not an indication of success. Of course, I was significantly more stressed out. But that’s a matter of my being a stress bunny, not an indication of success.
And, of course, I was significantly less prepared for a life of not being in complete control.
And now, I am definitely not in control. Not even a little bit.
Frankly, I don’t like it. I’m still waiting for this transition period to come to an end. For the question marks and the unknowns and the surprises to disappear.
I’m ready to sit down here and know exactly what I want to write about. Exactly what I want to tell you.
It’s not, of course, that there aren’t things I could say. As much as I try, I can’t avoid the news altogether. Trust me, I’m a woman of many, many opinions. Oh, yes, I definitely have them. On ‘Brexit’. And Dave. And Osbourne. And Boris. And healthcare. And education. And immigration. And the media. And women. And the gender pay gap. On Trump. On Hillary. On Bernie. On the fact that I think it’s downright sad people are so unwilling to consider alternatives, to think about what could be instead of settling for what we can get. On the fact that it worries the hell out of me that Jeb’s dropping out of the race is not the best news I could have hoped for, the best thing we all could have hoped for. Just think about it – things are so bad that Jeb’s dropping out isn’t really cause for a great celebration because what’s left is actually worse. . . .
And, and, and. . . .
But, right now, I’d settle for one week of knowing that I’ll manage to get my teeth brushed before lunch time.