so much things
There’s less than a month til my birthday.
I’ll be 40.
I really wasn’t looking forward to it, but I’ve grown used to the idea (well it’s not as though I have many options).
Now, I just keep stressing about the celebration; you know: Whom do I invite? What if they don’t come?
The middle East is in flames. Southern Africa is sliding towards an epic disaster. Western economies are slowing or speeding, depending on which side of the record your listening to, at a dangerous speed that’s going to plunge us into either early-thirties depression or late thirties inflation (again, depending on whether you’re playing the “A” or “B” side).
And I’m kvetching about party invites.
Shallow, much?
In other news, work is manic. The project manager for a piece of work I was peripherally involved in called in sick with “stress” on Monday. No saying when she’ll be back.We go live in a week.
Guess who’s been handed the project manager role? Uh, that’ll be me.
Guess why the old one went off stressed? Oh, that could have something to do with the fact that nothing’s done. Nothing. No Fucking Thing in the 80+ lines of the plan is actually marked as complete (except for the three that I was responsible for).
So I panicked and flapped for a day. And on Tuesday I went back through the plan and stressed a little more. But by Wednesday, I was organising the various teams, setting on the slackers like a rottweiler, charming the clients in prep for what may be a partial delivery on the 16th (with full delivery by the 31st; so I bought us two more weeks), and thinking “I can do this. I CAN do it.”
Which feels nice.
Still not happy ’bout those party invites, mind…