Archive | March, 2018

Broken sleep cycle

10 Mar
Cat asleep on a cushion
My sleep cycle broke as stress took over a bit this week with work that is almost if not already late, and other worries in my life. I’m an occasional insomniac but nothing like that. Screens (TV, computer, hand-held sidekick) usually have no impact and most are now set up to display warmer colours after dark. This week, however, there was very little TV, a lot of computer (as often, so no drastic change), and a lot of tossing and turning!

Wednesday night I didn’t even sleep. I went to bed, tried to sleep, it didn’t work. I didn’t work either :) I got up at 2:30 am when I was hungry to have breakfast, went back to bed but soon after gave up and switched back the light to read a book. Then I got bored and chatted an hour or so with a friend from afar and read all that the Twitter mobile app displayed by scrolling down until there was nothing else to load. By then it was 5:30 am on Thursday so I hopped in the shower to get ready and was at work before 6.

I worked 14 hours on International Women’s Day. I noted with mild bitterness that by midday I had already worked 40 hours. The rest of the week was going to be pro bono. For the curious it amounts to 2 days of unpaid overtime.

I may seem to be complaining but I’m not really. First, what I work on is wicked interesting and I enjoy it, and the best people work with me. Second, I’m a workaholic. Not that I pride myself on it, it’s just a fact. Third, I’ve had more or less stress at work in this position for the 3 years since I accepted it. At this point, only a miracle can change this and I’m not expecting one.

I suppose the thoughts and bitterness were compounded by the discourse on International Women’s Day: pressing for progress, parity of salaries, equality in the workplace.

Mobilisation des troupes

7 Mar
love written on a wallIl a dit à demi triomphalement et à demi surpris «Maman se soucie de moi, finalement !» et ça m’a affectée. Et rassurée.

J’habite avec Papa. Ou plutôt, Papa habite avec moi. Quand mon fils est chez moi une semaine sur deux, c’est trois joyeuses générations qui cohabitent, avec le chat. Maman, elle, habite ailleurs. C’est compliqué. Compliqué, mais bien.

Alors quand Papa a manqué à l’appel (celui de Maman) un soir il y a quelques jours, c’était branle-bas de combat. Moi j’étais ailleurs. En fait, tout le monde était ailleurs !

Quand Maman n’arrive pas à joindre Papa, elle appelle mon frère. Lui m’écrit des SMSs. Moi j’en écris à Papa et à mon frère. J’étais prête à rameuter la voisine, mais mon frère s’apprêtait déjà à venir sur place.

Pas de panique, tout est rentré dans l’ordre dans la demi-heure : Papa a rappelé Maman une fois qu’il eu fini de causer dehors avec un voisin qui promenait Mirza.

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