The tide must turn one day

Have not kept you posted in the topic of tidings from the remont front. The builders who had promised to set off on 1 October, then on 8 October so when for the third time they explained themselves they were stricken by some setbacks with their previous commitments, my father made a few calls to his friends and found another crew, but they will (hopefully) kick off on 5 November and have estimated all works would last until Christmas. I consider this a miracle since on Friday I read in one of reputable dailies the best crew have backlogs for two years!

The fact the remont has gotten behind schedule should not take me aback, just like being double-crossed by the builders, an experience nearly everyone is familiar with. I have even learnt to live with frustration that so little is going on in my dwelling. My father has nearly finished (taking a break for the grandpa’s funeral period) the rewiring; electricity wires had been in such mess that according to dad it was a miracle a fire had not broken out in the flat; with the seller being accountable for the mess, as the wiring had been totally inconsistent with original documentation of the flat (glad to have hit it off with the property administrator).

Negativity has taken over me in recent days (or weeks). Whatever I get down to, whatever I handle, my head is full of scenarios of what can go wrong. Remont, especially if you do not decide to hire somebody to look after it and take that burden off your back and come up with solutions if things tangle up, is an endless streak of nuisances, a steep ascent uphill, a struggle against unreliable people. To finish this paragraph with a glimmer of hope, there were a few incidences when things went smoothly, to my surprise.

At work it is uphill as well, things to complain about are same as ever: excessive workload, poor organisation and unreliable workmates. Two last months of the year loom particularly ominous, as the imminent handover of client coverage and the merger will increase the work beyond the point in which one can control the whole mass of tasks to be duly done. Relief is said to be brought in 2019 and the prospect of better days is realistic.

Memories of the relationship terminated more than three months ago (in the flat-related haste I still have not fully got over it, rather I have drowned out the waterfall of thoughts in mind head) and family affairs, including the recent departure of my grandpa (which lasted a few days, since his body was emaciated, yet his heart remained strong for long) also do not help me reach the peace of mind.

I long for a blissful feeling of being carefree, a state I last experienced during the holidays in late May. Five months of being restless and restlessness are being transmitted to my body, causing continuous muscle tension, headaches, sleeplessness or constant drowsiness.

I have learnt to cope well with work-related stress. I have picked up a wonderful ability to cut off all affairs after crossing the doorstep of my office. Yet far more challenges need to be tackled outside office (where I spend around 50 hours per week, or 55 hours, if commutes are counted in) and time to handle them is not infinite. If I choose not to let up and deal with all the stuff I need to, little time I left for relax. This month I went out with friends to town twice (counting out two lunches out of office), took a 30-kilometre bike ride two weeks ago, went to the swimming pool five of six times and went to the cinema once. The rest of my time was dedicated to duties.

On top I need to get the grips with the feeling of being unfairly hurt by evil people and evil world which is not shaped the way I would want it to be. This feeling is not entirely new to me, yet the intensity with which it is hitting me and the extent to it is distorting my perception of what goes on around are disproportionate. These days I actually don’t feel like talking to anyone nor meeting anyone, I feel like clamming up and waiting out this sombre phase.

The imbalance in life must be a temporary state. I find consolation in prospects of a better tomorrow. One day the flat is refurbished and furnished, one day workload is within my capabilities, one day I wake up and have the comfort of having only to catch up with all things I lack time to do now, all pleasurable. I foresee that moment comes in four months. By then I have no choice but to grit my teeth and not give up.