Monday, June 03, 2013
what's really going on
So I'm going to level with you.
My work at the moment? It's freaking insane.
I work for a big multinational, and my job is to help defend its reputation in the UK. At the moment, there is a lot of stuff going on in the country in general - paedophiles, terrorism and tax evasion.
All the delightful topics above we have been pulled into - and daily these have become a fighting battle for me and my colleagues over the last few months.
Battles that involve rows with journalists at 5am in the morning, battles that involve fighting back on incorrect headlines, or being heard among large claims. It's been extremely tough. It feels like we are all in the trenches, wearing tin hats, and staving off bullets.
And it's not stopping. I never thought my day-to-day work and my life would merge as one thing, and it has. Weekends have been somewhat overtaken by work, constantly being vigilant about what is being said, and fight, fight fighting back.
I believe in the organisation for whom I work, and I believe in the good that we do. But it's hard. Anbd when running around London last week from news room to news room, it was hard to describe after such a day, even to my Brit and parents, what work is like right now.
So. Bear with me if you don't see many blog posts. Or if you think I have nothing to say. When work is everything - whether I like it or not - I can't help but live in a very one dimensional world.
Honeymoon. One month. Then I can start replying to calls and emails from family and friends outside of this world.
Albeit, in between the last crazy weeks - things happened yesterday.
1) I got wasted. By accident.
2) I made a decision to enter every single competition I see in a magazine/on my phone/advertised. Ever. If we are going to buy a house, we are going to need some money. So I am literally, from yesterday, entering every competition I see.
With probability set to 1 to 99 say, I might win something every 100 tries?
I tried both of these. A load of times. Twenty even.
We went to visit some friends for a bit of birthday cheer, and it was a lovely sunny day yesterday. Didn't even wear my thermals. Wore totally breezy t-shirt.
LOLZ. In England.
Cracked open a few light and crispy bottles of vin blanc. Sat in the outdoor garden of The Captain Kidd, overlooking the river, and generally playing the fool. But being sensible and constantly checking my phone for work calls.
(I've had to start apologising to friends I see for dinner or drinks beforehand. "Soz. Gonna have to be looking at my phone every 4 minutes.")
The Brit left earlier, and I carried on; it was so great to be outside and with friends.
Well. How did I get home? It was light outside and I boarded a train - clearly - because I did eventually arrive at my front door. I must've been hit by the alcoholic lightning that is the sun+wine. But holy moses, I have no idea what happened next.
The next thing, the Brit was drip feeding me aspirin and water out of a sippy cup, and carrying me to bed.
Crisis. Hangover on a Monday with all this going on?
What a good idea that was.