Checking in before reckoning

The hills are alive.

And, there is no sound.

So, a quick round up.

• I am still alive. So, that's good. Good pulse on the wrist. Nice deep furrow of the forehead. Alive - certainly. Kicking - um, more of a slowed pulsing, but I'm getting there.
• Still married. So, that's a thing that is happening and has happened.
• Kids are growing. Two of them. They're great. Life is going alright.
• Just started a new job in a new big city. Lots of changes, lots of activity. Mostly all good. Invigorating almost.

Gosh, I love Captain Awkward.

When one has been in a toxic environment for a long time, dimensions warp, you know? Right becomes wrong, wrong becomes right. Everything you hold near and dear to your sense of justice twists into some unrecognizable sludge, determined to consume you.

Yikes.

So, I have been detoxing and it feels .... it feels. I have feelings. 

Betterment is one. My positive outlook is returning. A casual passerby pointed out that I tend to expect the very worst scenario as unavoidable fact. And, that's not normal. It's not even borne from reality. It's a side effect. A grim dark insidious side effect. And, it clouded my judgement for a long time.

Relief is another. The downward spiral into self-destruction seemed inevitable. It was a free-fall into disgrace, really, now that I think about it. And, why? So, to throttle the metaphor, I am now in a bit of a holding pattern while I reassess my spot in the world, my plans for the future - while I get in touch with what I'm doing, and where I want to be. It's a bit of a course correction, and it was long overdue.

Focus is returning. When you know better, you do better. It's difficult when one is caught up in a high-pressure situation. When demands exceed capacity, and you feel like it will just never end. I've always found it difficult to advocate for myself, you know. I've always struggled with the idea of -- "your feelings don't matter. Just get the job done. Make money. You can have feelings later."

That's harsh.

A sense of self is returning. And, it feels... amazeballs. I know, that's not a word. But, it fits. 

Anyway, that's enough revelry for today. I'm just happy to be here. I'm happy to be now. I'm happy.   

So, I should probably write something

I am reaching the Autumn period of my life, and am pretty miserable in my career.

Why am I so miserable? 

 Burnout, I think.

I head up a team of people who mostly tend to be all out of ideas all of the time. Some of them are also allergic to accountability, and tend to be error-prone. 

I'm so tired.

I don't sleep well at night.  And, the combination of my husband's high responsibility job and my high responsibility job, is not meshing well.  We lash out.  And, when we lash out, it is at each other.

High risk - high reward

I was always told I am a good writer.  

As can be deduced, I haven't written anything in years.  I also find that I'm only good when I really try.

I'm so sick of having to remember everything at work, and do everything at work.  I think I have reached the end of my tether in that regard.

I don't know.

This morning when I couldn't sleep, despite the glass of wine my teetotalling historic self would have been shocked and appalled at me imbibing, I said to myself: "Self, maybe it's time to practice some writing again."

Who knows, this may lead to something, therapeutic at the very least.

And, in conclusion,

I happen to agree with this article

And, this article