Plodding Through The Day

I wound up getting very stressed last night.  With the supposed deadline for Archaeological Book #2 fast approaching (end of the month...), I'm focussed on getting that up and running.  I'm coping with the stresses of that just fine.  But add family and other issues into the mix, then suddenly the wall of composure comes crashing down.

I didn't sleep much.  I woke up feeling terrible.  I thought about phoning in sick.  But I have too much to do, and besides, in a perverse way, work is one of these rare places where real life cannot encroach and therefore the world is pleasantly sane.

With three short notes to prepare for final editing and a report to get out through the door, I needed my brain to be in tip-top shape.  Alas, on two-three hours sleep, it was not to be.  I went through the motions, and somehow managed to get one and a half papers done.  The clay tobacco pipes are dispensed with, and the meal mills are almost done.  The trials and tribulations of Bronze Age bucket urns will have to wait until tomorrow. 

And I somehow have to fit in final edits of the rest of the papers.  Brain, wherefore art thou?  Come back, all is forgiven!!

On a lighter note, I stumbled my way back from the train and was handed a cup of coffee by my husband, who wanted to know what differences I could see in the garden.  I blinked a few times.  I noticed a compost bin, looking intrusive.  I noticed a hellebore, looking pink.  I noticed a whole pile of purple crocuses.  There was a subtle difference, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

It slowly dawned.  The floppy Phormium which had been draped across the flower bed has been given a rather savage haircut.  Now, I know Phormiums (Phormia?Phormiii?? Help!!!) are supposed to be statuesque, architectural plants that you don't prune, but this one was beginning to smother everything in sight.  The dead wasteland of a grandmother Penstemmon plant and her satellite daughter/gradndaughter  had also been cut hard back. 

These measures were drastic, but I have to admit the place looks better.  I'm sure I could hear a sigh of relief from the plants who've suddenly seen the sun again after years of shady gloom.

I'm still not sure what the full extent of the casualties are after the Big Freeze.  I think I've lost most of my Penstemmon plants, which I'm quite gutted about.  Sour Grapes is a stunning plant, and it's not easy to get hold of.   But I'm beginning to realise that losing so many of my established plants in one fell swoop will mean I get a chance to start again.  And go out shopping for more Penstemmon!!!

Tonight I'm due to go out to the Writers' Group.  I'm very tired, but I'm determined to maintain my usual routine.  I worked hard on preparing a chapter for tonight's session and I'm not going to chicken out because of a bit of fatigue.

Hopefully, I'll get a good night's rest tonight and tomorrow I'll be feeling a bit better...

Plodding Through The Day

I wound up getting very stressed last night.  With the supposed deadline for Archaeological Book #2 fast approaching (end of the month...), I'm focussed on getting that up and running.  I'm coping with the stresses of that just fine.  But add family and other issues into the mix, then suddenly the wall of composure comes crashing down.

I didn't sleep much.  I woke up feeling terrible.  I thought about phoning in sick.  But I have too much to do, and besides, in a perverse way, work is one of these rare places where real life cannot encroach and therefore the world is pleasantly sane.

With three short notes to prepare for final editing and a report to get out through the door, I needed my brain to be in tip-top shape.  Alas, on two-three hours sleep, it was not to be.  I went through the motions, and somehow managed to get one and a half papers done.  The clay tobacco pipes are dispensed with, and the meal mills are almost done.  The trials and tribulations of Bronze Age bucket urns will have to wait until tomorrow. 

And I somehow have to fit in final edits of the rest of the papers.  Brain, wherefore art thou?  Come back, all is forgiven!!

On a lighter note, I stumbled my way back from the train and was handed a cup of coffee by my husband, who wanted to know what differences I could see in the garden.  I blinked a few times.  I noticed a compost bin, looking intrusive.  I noticed a hellebore, looking pink.  I noticed a whole pile of purple crocuses.  There was a subtle difference, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

It slowly dawned.  The floppy Phormium which had been draped across the flower bed has been given a rather savage haircut.  Now, I know Phormiums (Phormia?Phormiii?? Help!!!) are supposed to be statuesque, architectural plants that you don't prune, but this one was beginning to smother everything in sight.  The dead wasteland of a grandmother Penstemmon plant and her satellite daughter/gradndaughter  had also been cut hard back. 

These measures were drastic, but I have to admit the place looks better.  I'm sure I could hear a sigh of relief from the plants who've suddenly seen the sun again after years of shady gloom.

I'm still not sure what the full extent of the casualties are after the Big Freeze.  I think I've lost most of my Penstemmon plants, which I'm quite gutted about.  Sour Grapes is a stunning plant, and it's not easy to get hold of.   But I'm beginning to realise that losing so many of my established plants in one fell swoop will mean I get a chance to start again.  And go out shopping for more Penstemmon!!!

Tonight I'm due to go out to the Writers' Group.  I'm very tired, but I'm determined to maintain my usual routine.  I worked hard on preparing a chapter for tonight's session and I'm not going to chicken out because of a bit of fatigue.

Hopefully, I'll get a good night's rest tonight and tomorrow I'll be feeling a bit better...