I’m really sorry, Miss…I know I promised, but stuff happened.
I know I said I’m really good with deadlines an’ everything, I just…I just…Well, I’ve done a lot, already. Like every single week for pretty much a year.
No, no! I didn’t run out of ideas. I never run out of ideas.
It’s just…you know…it was the Sandwich.
No. Not something you eat. It’s more like something eating at you, to be honest. From all directions.
There’s a lot of it going around with me and my friends…and strangers, too, that I exchange glances with as they patiently shop with their doddery parents…
The Sandwich Generation. We’ve got a lot on our plates, okay? And it’s not often an actual sandwich, ‘cos, y’know…dodgy middle-aged digestion. Bread bloat. Amirite?
It’s a GenX kinda thing. If you know, you know.
Keeping a careful eye on ageing parents, teenagers, sick and struggling friends, siblings-in-need…all while menopause, yes, the friggin’ Menopause, and midlife desire and the need to make-sense-of-it-all-before-I-die swirls around in a mix of hot flushes, regrets, epiphanies, and sore feet.
No, I know nobody likes generational generalisations. But if the cliche fits, I’ll wear it, okay?
Anyway.
All I’m saying is that it’s been a bit mad of late.
I know I made a commitment at the beginning of the year. An article a week. And, crikey, some people are even paying for these. (Who saw that coming?) So, yeah, I know, I know…!
I’m sorry, Miss, but…
Self-employment in a precarious industry - gotta take all the hours I can get, right? Burning the candle across time-zones. Yep. No sick leave, no holiday pay…and tax time is just around the corner.
Then there’s the passion job. Going well. As long as I keep pushing. And pushing. And puuuusshh-ing.
Plus when the teens are here I want to be a helpful step-mum. Teach them to be functional adults. Cook. Clean. Drive. Do their homework. Wash behind their ears. Fuel their questioning spirits. Self-regulate. Prepare them for the…world.
Which, by the way, is hard to keep straight in my head. The world, not the teens.
I thought my sleep was bad before this year. Now instead of random anxious thoughts in the quiet hours, I toss around very specific anxious thoughts. Like, highly existential ones, you hear me?
I have friends wanting to opt out. I have friends who have opted out.
And then a parent dies. So there’s that. Grief. Regret. Walking through the Fatherless Lands and wondering when all my tears dried up, and why my hair is so very grey and thin.
And in the hours I do sleep, I dream of personal, political, environmental and planetary shitstorms. If the night is too quiet, I wonder if World War 3 started and no one told me.
Then it starts raining and I remember the house leaks, the laundry floods with every load of washing, the heater doesn’t work, the landlord doesn’t want to know, and the rent is crippling.
Self-care?
Oh. Yeah.
Well, I try.
I don’t open that second bottle.
Nah. Seriously. Gotta keep moving. Weights. Yoga. Cycling. Move it or lose it.
GenX are gonna be the strongest old folks you’ve ever seen. Push ups before porridge.
And really, I’ve only just met the love of my life. Want to stick around in good form. Make the most of that particular miracle.
I’m sorry, Miss, I really am.
I had all these plans. Then there were migraines, late nights, and early mornings. Endless emails in multiple inboxes.
Yeah, I know, Miss.
But I bet I’m more disappointed in me than you are.
Plenty of ideas. A plethora.
Just. No. Time.
And I finally got it sorted…then my dog ate my Substack.
What?
Damn it. You know about that?
Yeah, you’re right. I haven’t had a dog for years. Thanks for bringing that up! Jeez, I still miss him. Could do with a bit of canine bloody loyalty at this juncture. Plus he’d make me walk every day.
An extension?
Oh! Yes, please, Miss! Thank you, Miss!
‘Til next week?
Yep. I promise!
No excuses…
What, Miss?
Yeah, I know…I’ll only get away with this once.
It's great how you manage to write about the hard parts of your life in a humorous way! 💖
I saw the whole thing, Miss, she's telling the truth!