We don’t need no water let the motherfucker burn
It’s official — I’m burning out. I’m not getting enough sleep, and yet I wake up well before my alarm clock goes off every morning, thinking about what I need to do, what I’ve yet to do. My body is acting all weird. I had a decent (for me) breakfast this morning, a slice of cold pizza and a handful of cherry tomatoes, but I’m bloody starving as if all I had was a saltine cracker. I’ve got a sore throat, signalling that I need to take a break from running around like a headless chook chasing after advertisers for What’s On Xiamen on a daily basis with no days off for good behaviour.
But I can’t. Who else is going to do it? Of all the people who have offered to help, not a single one has actually done anything, and I’m not surprised. This is the city I live in.
I could give up on What’s On Xiamen, let it fade into the history of the expatriate experience in the city, letting it be something that someone tried and failed to do. If you know anything about me, you’ll know my middle name should be ‘mule’ — I’ll be buggered if I let anyone prevent me from doing something for immature, bitchy, irrational reasons (either one of them will do to raise the hackles).
There are brief snatches of time when I’m not crippled by the weight of the island on my shoulders, moments when I’m not completely stressed out worrying that the world as we know it will end if I don’t get the editorial and advertising in on the deadline (oh yeah, and let’s not forget my day job). True, this is usually when I’m asleep, but let’s not split hairs.
Last night I dreamed about the wee man. Neil had told me that he’d spoken with Delboy over the weekend. Delboy is getting married this year, and we, unfortunately, can’t go. So my subconscious decides to transform wee Derek — he now wears tight clothes and sports a bob. And an old school love heart tattoo on the side if his head.
Sorry, wee man. I can’t help it.
I had dinner with a few girls from work yesterday (I needed to talk to the restaurant about something for the magazine — see, work again). It was good. It was funny. I had a good time. I never get tired of telling the story of Neil pretending to be an airplane so that the taxi driver would know where to take him. Vroooooom!
I got back from Singapore less than a month ago, worrying about the magazine. Already, I need a break I need a break I need a break.
7 Comments
I know it can be frustrating having people promise to do something and always, almost never fail to bail out on it. Last year, I ended up doing the duties of the entire club’s committee because those that volunteered never turns up.
Take a nice bath, hang your feet up and read a book. It may even give you fresh ideas! :-)
I am proud of You and what you have been able to accomblish. Be Happy FIRST !
Dont let your health fail you now! You just learned that it was doing ok. Make sure to take care of yourself, eh?
poor wee andrea.
the dream about wee derek was pretty funny though. heeeee!
bohemian: no bathtub, unfortunately. I tend to read a couple of chapters of whatever it is I’m reading before bed, if I’m not too tired. Sigh.
Mark: I have no time to be happy! Hehe. No, it’s better to be busy as hell than on my own and bored, waiting for Neil to come back.
mdmhvonpa: I’ll do my best, but since I’m the type of person who forgets to eat… ahem.
Kris: Yeah. I thought it was a dead funny dream.
Andrea, I’m sorry work is consuming your life.
Do what you need to do to keep yourself happy and sane… because is it *really* worth it to sacrifice your own health for the sake of a magazine?
I know, it’s not, but no one else is going to do it. I mean work on the magazine, not sacrifice my health.
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