My head is full.
Work. Home. Health. Finances. All of these are weighing on me.
Ten years of the same ol' and I'm busier than I've ever been. Multiple projects with different versions of the same product to keep in my head. Writing. Maintaining. Editing work of my colleagues. Keeping things straight. Keeping deadlines. Taking one document that I've maintained, in one form or another, for more than nine years, and now deconstructing it and building it anew, with a new footprint and a new approach.
Much more complex than my project at home.
And yet, that consumes me in my hours outside of the office. Shopping for cabinets, for appliances, for flooring, for lighting. The walls need new colours; the ceiling, a fresh coat. Everything from top to bottom, end to end. We tear the old down in preparation for the new, hoping that everything will be ready in time. And as we plan, as we prepare, as we accumulate, the sound of old-fashioned cash registers ring in my ears, sometimes louder than the cicada-like buzzing that is endless.
My consultation for my tinnitus is looming, with no guarantees that the problem will be solved. In the meantime, I await the surgery that will hopefully fix my feet before the nerves are irreparably damaged, before circulation fails, and before I can no longer support my own weight.
I am constantly in pain.
I wonder if my feet can take the long periods of standing, of lifting, of climbing. But they must, because for this project to be completed, I have to do some of the work myself. I cannot afford to have it all done for me.
I spend endless hours, worrying about the cost, about aspects of the project for which we haven't accounted, that will creep in and surprise.
I hate surprises.
Like, the spring in the garage door that snapped in two. Like the extra layer of floor boards that was laid in the kitchen and for which we need to even up for the family room.
Like the stuff that hasn't crept into the budget that undoubtedly will.
And then there's my car, where the transmission is unreliable, where I don't know from one day to the next whether I need to take it in, once again, for service.
There are the kids. Parents always worry about their kids.
One thing after another piles itself up on me, fills my head. My head is full.
And when my head is this full, I find it hard to function. I can't fall asleep at night. I'm exhausted during the day.
My story is not unique and I'm sure there are many other people who have as much or more on their plates.
Are they also headed for an overload, for a meltdown. Like some electronic tablets, whose batteries burn or explode from overcharging, from over-stimulation, I'm on my way to a possible breaking point.
Will I burn out, melt down?
Just one more thing to worry about.