A daily writing schedule that has no explicit structure is ambitious enough, even for the focused, but coupled with the enormous emotional crash that was the last entry, you can see why I might have needed a little rest... I wonder whether I should have included trigger warnings in its advertisement as well.
Ever since, you could say I've been living in some kind of martian time slip; all the days seem massively extended, evenings and the following night times compressed and to say my memory of the weekend is tenuous is only the start of it. Friday night I wrote off entirely... And then Saturday was Old Choristers (Dinner? Drink? Vanilla!?), and then Sunday... Sunday there was... Curry?!? Drink?!?!?!? I don't know. It's all a colossal blur really, but then it's not as if it was a particularly stress free weekend.
It's these long days though, that are really grinding away at my soul. The once sacrosanct morning routine has been truncated to the bear necessities: teeth brushing, a shower, iron a shirt, dress and leave the house, complete with a large mug (anything from 2/3rds of a pint to 2 entire pints) so I can have my precious tea with fake milk while I'm at the desk. I used to take a banana with me for breakfast but that was obviously a fad that came and went. Even if I take in a substantial lunch, the evenings just kind of crash, you know. Working at the desk all day is pretty draining, and also not exactly a fun mental workout either - seeing the same people, some of whom say the exact same things all day every day without variation of any kind is just... Jeez, I dunno.
The day starts at 7:50. I then play chicken with myself to see just how long I can leave it before I actually have to get out of bed to perform the above routine in enough time to get me into the office somewhere approaching on time. I normally sail in at 9 on the dot. Punctuality was never my strong suit, and it continues to be a weakness. It's just as difficult getting up on time for a Sunday morning as well, but rather than actually get up in plenty of time I usually hang around in bed til a point of no return and then have to rush getting ready and generally feel unawake for the most part of the rehearsal. And then take it out on myself. I also tend not to do any formal warming up before rehearsal as well, using the actual practice because that's a good idea eh! Prat.
The day then finds its next stage beginning at 9. Or just after 9. You know, in and around 9am. The morning lasts for 5 hours, which either drag by or whiz past, depending on what day it is, how many people come to the door, how many call the bloody telephone, and how many times the printer breaks down. Then, a lunch hour (unpaid), where I either punish myself with a Co-Op meal deal, or go to a Thai joint for a surprisingly affordable two courses, or, if it's a Thursday, treat myself to an hour on what's left of the Byfield in Saint Mary's Aisle. I then return by 2pm, and it's only another 3 hours to the finish! It's often surprising how fast five o'clock can sneak up on you sometimes, by which time I have to be ready to leave posthaste and get to Church! IT NEVER ENDS!
Of course, to say that this is the most strenuous thing in the world is to grossly underestimate the nature of effort. It's still tough though, particularly Wednesdays (and also Mondays), which can potentially go on for over 12 hours. Like I said last time, I'm not wired up to deal with people for that length of time, it's simply at the very limit of my abilities. Lots of people compliment me on my behaviour, that it isn't obvious that I'm "on the spectrum", one of my least favourite phrases that seems to have been turned into an all-encompassing explanation for people who do not behave in socially expected ways, that I have become so good at hiding my major symptomatic behaviours. It's a double edged sword at best, and a gutting hook at worst. Oh well. These things are sent to try us after all...
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