And I have just experienced one of them.
Right now.
Tuesday evening; such an unassuming day of the week.
It all started perfectly normally. Well, what is normal for me. A god-awful buzz-buzz-buzz on my wrist from my fitbit at 5:45am, signalling that I should well and truly leave the pillowy warm depths of my sleep to shimmy ungainly into a pair of Lorna Jane tights. Seriously, just the sheer effort to get into these bloody things should count for some form of fat burning exercise. But there you have it. Within fifteen minutes, I am hair tied, sports-bra'd and trussed up in enough body sucking material that even I may say I look a little svelte. And I am back out amongst it. Early morning commuters manoeuvring silently through the car parks and into some orderly fashion as they head train bound for their day.
Walk and run. Songs filtering through my mind. My mind dancing between warm make-me-happy-memories from the weekend and the sharp hard corners of tasks yet to be done. Work. Most of us have to do it. Some of us really enjoy it. As for me, I remain fickle in my conviction to the cause. Don't get me wrong. I am passionate about what I do but certainly far less so about the pseudo-managerial misfits that can sometimes get in the way.
But back to the walk-a-run. There is certainly something rather invigorating about weaving your way through those who are already work destined before 6:15am. Here I am, pounding the pavements just because I can. With my own time constraints that chase and chastise me on a daily basis, this first early morning chunk of my day is one to be savoured. I would enjoy it more if it wasn't for the painful pull from my lungs as they protest with enough pant against the demands that I make. I am not that fit. Yet.
Card swiped, towel draped and bloody too tight tights hitched. I am ready for my personal training session at the gym. Or am I? I am one who needs to see visible results and FAST. It is not about the money or the time but oh my god, it is about the pain; physical and mental. And possibly what's worse is the personal sense that I stick out just like that proverbial sore thumb. Except everything I have is sore; not just a bloody thumb. So 3 reps of for-god's-sake-don't-let-me-get-a-repeat-prolapse lunges followed by 3 reps of step up and step downs with some ridiculously long metal pole that is barely balanced on the nape of my neck. Wait. Did my PT seriously say that it was 15kilos? Is she totally mad? For most days I struggle to hold the weight of my heavy head; let alone the occasional weight of the world on my shoulders. But here I am doing this stuff and all in the fully glory of some beautifully polished, gleaming floor to ceiling mirror against the backdrop of an equally pristine clean shop window. Me, self conscious? Never. But wait, a series of sprints backwards and forwards. Yep. It definitely gets better. Not only do I have the sensory pleasure of feeling my muffin top jiggling up and down, I now get to see the less than rhythmical rise and fall of my souffle similar midriff as I come puce faced, puffing like a seriously fat-clad kid who is in serious danger of self combustion.
And I pay for this pleasure.
So walk-a-run - tick. Gym - tick. Home to find the painter is still painting something or other in the house. The three day budget has now been totally blown and if I had more time, I could probably calculate that this is his ninth day of painting. Erm, yes. I actually do think it is now nine days. But my god, I am just so tired that I am passed caring. Money. Yes. It will cost me but that is why I tolerate the crap that happens at my workplace, just so I can pay bills such as these. And anyway (hastening to cheer myself up), I have a totally new vibe in the house so for once I will be paying a tradie for a job that actually generates a visible result. I mean, let's see. Last year, yes there was the roofer guy. I ain't going up on that thing just to see if he did replace the tiles. Then there was someone who was doing something or other in the roof space. The last time I ventured up there I came face to face with Rufus-Ratus and that didn't work out well for either of us. So yes, I guess it comes back to needing to see visible results and preferably fast...Well, nine days, perhaps not that fast.
Let's just see if the pavey-type peeps will be able to transform the front verge in record time. Currently, I am casting for the re-make of the Triffids out there but I don't seem to be moving forward with this one. I just keep lining up the weeds like an identity parade but getting no closer to picking out the culprit. I frickin' hate weeds and I am sure that my tolerant neighbours feel the same. So still sweaty and slightly nauseated from my pre-brekkie exercise, I have made more calls to set up quotes, listened to painter guy as he tells me what he had for tea last night and did I mind if he comes again in the morning just to touch up the ... now what was it again? Oh yes, touch up the same bloody window frames that he did on Monday this week and Wednesday last week. I should really be a tougher customer but you know what? I can't be bothered to challenge anyone at the moment. Life is short and I for one am slightly disturbed with the amount of angst in our world so if it means I am doing my bit by being a sucker as a soft-touch, so be it. I will pay the price. AND keep going to work.
So 7:57am and I am still Lorna Jane clad and wishing that I could somehow take myself back to a warm place where it didn't matter if I was sweaty and still in my sports gear... But, nup. It is Tuesday and I actually should already be at work safely ensconced behind my grey desk, with my grey 'phone and growing grey hairs as I check the increasing backlog of work to be done. But I am still at home and trying frantically to work out my best way to shower and change without having to discuss it with the painter.
8:06 and I am out the door, hair flying and a trusted sachet of good ol' Uncle Toby Oats slung into my bag for sustenance at some point during the day. Yes. A normal day. Arrive at work to see that my team are almost all assembled with increasing poise and precision that could be construed as slightly disconcerting. Hurried handover of information followed by the usual flurry of "Can I have a quick chat please?" through my revolving door of my grey office. And sigh. I made it.
9:00am and a visit from my first student of the day. Pinnacle stuff really. On the brink of manhood and with just 2 weeks left of school to navigate, my job is to keep this kid calm. I have been working with him for just over 5 years now and I have been privileged enough to walk alongside him, even during the most turbulent times of his life. Yes. We have been through a lot. There has been a LOT of TALKING and endless hours of LISTENING. Interspersed with CAJOLING and COAXING and persuasive prompts to see the world from alternative perspectives. Yes. It is a cool job that I have. I really do have a good gig going on. Trying to meet the individual needs; students, families, staff and agency workers and all within the constraints of budgets, resourcing, educational systems and politics. Yup. A nice tasty challenge. Oh and of course, my goal is to continue to do this without burning out... I need to be useful to the next person, you know.
So 9:10am and I have convinced the head of the Canteen that I so should have percolated coffee and a cookie for myself and the student. Yes, yes. Put it all on my budget. This kid needs to know how well he has done and this is kinda special to have proper coffee right bang in the middle of the school. And while all other students and teachers are learning and teaching and teaching and learning, here I am celebrating the educational, emotional and physical journey of one seriously gentle hearted kid who was dealt a tough hand somewhere along the road of life. Seriously. I am passionate about what I do.
9:45am. Work done with said student. Onto more task-type things. Transition meetings, discussions about just how do you meet individual needs on a shoestring budget and staff support. Yes, even my own staff need more support on a daily basis. And that to me is just a sign of the pressures that we are all facing on a daily basis. By 1:00pm, I have done 3 meetings, written 46 emails and sipped at least two more cups of something resembling coffee. 1:30pm and I am onto my final 2 meetings.
And then done. Leave work long after the final cloud of choking black smoke from Transperth buses with squashed student type faces up against the rear windows. Back home to find the painter still err-umm painting. Oh good. Pave-type peeps arrives to give me a different quote and comment on the ridiculousness of my summation that I do have enough spare pavers.. Evidently not.
4:45pm. Bags finally put down. Yes, I manage to do much these days with a laptop bag and trusty supermarket canvas bag swinging crazily from my rapidly stooping left shoulder.
5:00pm and the visit from my daughter. Oh. Had I not mentioned this? Well, I believe that she had tried to pop around to see me first thing this morning but I have failed to inform her that I am attempting to get fit. So I fobbed her off until tonight.
House still full of painter-man and ever increasing paint fumes so we head off. I know that she has not come around to just say, 'hey.'
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