Friday, June 29, 2012

Juney Friday

This is it.  Friday.  End of financial year.

I like Fridays.  Last day of the working week and the delight of knowing the weekend is in sight.  The office is quiet on a Friday.  I am usually on my own, not too many phone calls and I generally spend the day tying up loose ends of unfinished jobs and prepare myself for the week ahead.

Next week is busy because it is the beginning of the month and I need to get lots of invoicing out.  It is very convoluted process the whole invoicing thing in the building industry.  Some jobs are cost plus, some are progress claims.  Different architects have different ways they do progress claims.  It is fiddly.

My boss and his wife are also away for that week which means I have to pick up a bit of work to keep on top of things.  The new girl in the office has been with us for a few months and I have come to the conclusion that she is just never going to be able to take any work from me.  She has her limitations.  Yesterday I spent three or four hours fixing mistakes she had made.  These mistakes are repeats so I have to tackle it with her on Monday.  She is a lovely girl and I am more than happy to train her up but if she is not retaining the information, well, I am not sure that any training will be of any use.

My son turns fifteen on Sunday.  I can't believe it.  I would like to say that it seems like yesterday that we brought him home from hospital but to me it feels like a lifetime ago.  I have renewed my cells more than once in that time I am sure.  This morning I was thinking of how children are small for such a short time.  Small in that pink cheeked way.  Where they are a very intense part of you and you are and intense part of their self.  Having only one child made me zero in on that open window of time because I was only ever going to have one shot at it.

Even though S is now a teenager and not needing K and I in the same way, he is just a beautiful to be with.  I love the way teenagers think.  It is so new and fresh even in this age of cynicism.

My son is part of Generation Z apparently.  I am Generation X.  I work with Generation  X and Y and a couple of Gen Z are appearing on the work sites.  I constantly hear how great Baby Boomers are and how shit anyone else after them is (sorry BB's - just generalising here a bit).

My mother sent me an email that has been doing the rounds for a couple of years.  It talks about all the good things that the youth of yesteryear experienced.  It has a tone of smugness about it.  The assumption that past was so much better than now.  Some of the past was better.  Some was worse.  It may have been great for one person but shit for another.  Knowing my mother's childhood I can't imagine she would have wanted me to have the same.  Oh, wait, I won't use that analogy.  I certainly did not want my son to have a childhood like mine.  I wanted him to have his own childhood.  A good childhood will appear in any era just as a bad one will.

Don't you just love pigeon holes?

I joined the gym the other day and have my exercise schedule all worked out now for the weeks ahead. I went to a class on Tuesday and it was great to do something different.  My muscles are still sore.  It was only a 30 minute core work out but very intense.  In the end I joined the glitzy gym with the fab new facilities because there were more options for me.

After some time feeling fairly depressed I think I am getting a handle on things and doing more without really struggling.  It is such a relief and I never know how low I have felt until I am past it.  I have a check list that I use every so often because I think monitoring how I feel helps me get on top of a bout of depression sooner.  I recall last year just not being mindful about it and suddenly felt that I had hit the wall.   This time around I went to the therapist after checking the list and allowing myself to stop and acknowledge what was going on in my head.

Nothing planned for my son's birthday.  He is low key and is happy to just go out for dinner or something.  We are buying him a wallet for his birthday.  Go figure that one.  I asked if he wanted a mobile phone, iPad or anything.  Nope.  He needed a new set of headphones and we went halves with a new iTouch a month ago.   Not interested in clothes unless he outgrows them.  He has not had new clothes for over two years (apart from his hiking gear - which does not really qualify as clothes).  Even though he had a huge growth spurt he did not put on weight and his clothes still fit him.  They were very baggy when we first bought them so now they just sit well.

But I will bake him a birthday cake.  A nice chocolate one with all sorts of yummy things on top.

Next year I turn fifty.  K turns sixty.    That is LATE next year.

We could have a combined 110th party.

Hmmmm.

Perhaps not.

Ciao
LC
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4 comments:

  1. i thought of you, remembering how you were depressed last year. i was heading into a little depression this week, out of the blue (although it's not really completely out of the blue, is it?)

    sounds like you've handled it very well.

    i think i'm doing pretty good too -- remembering all the things i really love and enjoy in life. and knowing there's always hope... better days ahead for me!

    happy b'day your son. as always, he sounds like such a great guy!!

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  2. Meliss: I have accepted that depression is just one of those things I have to manage for always. It won't go, it will come and go and I will be vulnerable to it always. Knowing that and being okay with it makes it easier to manage.

    I am glad you are doing better. It is such a battle of the internal wills to get it right. Knowing how, why and when to change or something.

    My son had a great day. Ate cake and played Xbox. Now he is on school holidays for two weeks and in heaven.

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  3. I don't get the whole 'Pigeon Hole' question?????

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  4. Bruce: Ha ha, oh, I guess that might not be an expression used world wide. To say that someone or something is pigeon holed is to categorise something/someone according to a narrow range of attributes.

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Give me some twaddle.