Concluding with the school holidays, where I somehow managed to navigate full time ‘work’ with my this project/contract I’m doing, and not requiring the homicide squad and coroner to pop in for a cup of tea and a chat, I’m delving into a week of New Chaos.
Not merely a new Family Timetable, where we’ve had to change up a number of after school activities around the work Grumpy Pants and I are doing, but some considerable increasing of duties my role has required.
I have fallen into the position of not just writing stuff and faffing about with words, as is seriously required, but also creating all the processes and procedures and templates and all the other stuff that is designed to make life easier for contract copywriters.
Having an understanding of both copywriters and the variety of jobs and roles they may experience, and may have experienced, I also found myself sitting in interviews with the manager. Then hosting, then running the interviews.
Thus I found myself a few weeks back conjuring up a training presentation to present to the new copywriters joining our team, and just last week, making it even better.
This morning, I had to run the training session … which is generally when Murphy and his damned Law like to pop in and have a bit of fun with my brain.
We’d spent last weekend rearranging the kids’ bedrooms, and moving two children around. Godzilla had joined Monkey Boy in a room, possibly because they both smell the same now, and we’re trying to contain the odour to one space, and Chippie has his own room.
It has been going well. Really well.
Perhaps this should have been an indicator that we were set for a visit from Murphy. Coupled with my need to be switched on, articulate, coherent and concise, we were asking for it really …
It was midnight that an unfamiliar, extremely high pitched beeping started.
A noise that makes you sit up and go “what the fuck is that?!” whilst you’re still incapable of opening your eyes.
It was, I determined once my brain caught up, an alarm clock that Chippie had in his room. A rocket shaped thing that I had tried to bin not a week earlier, but he had saved it from The Terrible Mother, because “I love it and it’s so cute”.
I didn’t love it. It was never cute. And at 1 minute past midnight it was close to defenestration.
I staggered across the floor into his room to turn the fucker off, only to cause great destruction to the very carefully laid out railway system of the Island of Sodor that was now, essentially, Chippie’s bedroom floor.
Bridges where destroyed, buildings were toppled, trains were derailed, Chippie slept through it all, and I swore greatly before falling into the bedside table, capturing the offending beeper, pressing some 37 buttons multiple times and turning it off.
I only had to extract myself from the room without causing more damage to myself.
The only bright side was that it wasn’t LEGO. No. That resides all around the couch, and is also at great risk of destruction form my dainty feet.
Overcoming my nervousness about giving a presentation or two, as the case was, and training up some new copywriters for the job, I somehow managed to get through the day, with my tired brain and bruised foot.
I understand the stupid hours and crap all over the floor navigation in the dark are all normal.
As is having to create and conduct presentations.
I just wish the two could sort their shit out and maybe not conspire to join up and have their fun all at the same time.