I am still living with stress at work as nothing has been resolved. I know some thrive on stressful environments. I find them terribly corrosive. My energy levels have plummeted, I am unfocused; lasse is the French word which comes to my mind.
So today, recognising that I was slipping again, I made myself a little list of achievable targets for the afternoon. Nothing grand. A trip to the bank to pay the taxman, a cheque for Mother’s Personal Allowance so she can get her hair and feet done, a few emails, a call to the vet surgery to make an appointment for NotCat’s vaccinations, bake a cake.
And, apart from realising that I have lost a number I need for the carpet man when I switched ‘phones. I got everything done. Plus a few more bits. Now the Slough of Despond feels a bit more Henley-upon-Thames.
One of my emails was to Alan at the marina, the man who gave me some lovely blue ropes last year. He had said his friend might do my oil change for me, so I wanted to see if that was likely. He replied this evening to say yes. Result.
My cake is a little charred on the top in places, but not enough to do serious damage. I had used the oven for roast vegetables and it was a bit too hot.
It’s rhubarb cake, and my latest addiction. everyone else likes it too. One of my friends reckons I could sell it for £2.75 a slice. She was very precise about the price. Unfortunately, she didn’t specify where. I’ve added four drops of vanilla essence and a pinch of lavender flowers to the basic mix and it smells scrummy.
NotCat is ineffectually chasing blackbirds; tomorrow is Friday; I am my other work on Saturday and it feeds me. Yes, I think I should just make it.