snipped from the LJ because I am still just that short on time
Hello world.
This is gila's inner automaton speaking.
Gila passed out from over-exertion some weeks back and nobody noticed, not even she.
Gila forgot the cardinal rule: herself. Actually, that's a lie. Gila never forgot the cardinal rule, but the inner voice screaming out the litany of this rule was over-ruled by the din of the task list.
Gila hasn't really seen anyone in a social setting since Gwai-lo New Year's.
Gila hasn't fed anyone since New Year's.
Gila has hugged here and there but has barely even felt it since New Year's.
Gila has been up to her eyeballs in deliverables, deadlines, presentations, motivations, investigations and bloody work.
Gila's greatest pleasure in recent days (aside from and occasional cuddles) was giving the Durham Region police force a REALLY hard time and teaching them a thing or two about the way we do investigations and security.)
I've been working way too hard and long and fast on way too many things for way too many people and I miss the cuddles and giggles and there's a heavy spool of wire in my dining room and only the gods know when I will even make plans to unwind it into the walls.
My mother is continuing to accuse me of killing her with depression, appalling disappointment to humanity that I am, Gila the colossal failure to live up to any of momma's ideals, Gila the fuckup that I have grown up to be.
My father is continuing to attempt to be nice to me for the first time in twenty seven years, not one threat to beat me in weeks -- all because he is terrified of his swiftly encroaching mortality. I have long since stopped tasting the bitterness that is his hippocrisy, and have forgotten the feel of his fist on my cheek.
The great wonder that is Dave and I's joining is approaching, but no one has clued in that the RSVP email address means PLEASE RSVP, and while I am still filled with awe and heart-flutters at how right it feels, the organizing process is that one teetering fragile teacup atop the tottering pile of filthy dishes in my arms.
I haven't slept sans nightmares this week, my heart is pounding high blood pressure style and sometime on Wednesday these eight billion whining indications kicked in and I finally heard myself screaming.
Had a talk with my boss-mentor and y'know what?
This hurts and it's hard and a million other complaints but it's nothing compared to our plans for the next couple of years, and I'm going to need the practice.
And I've been dealing with this stress better than I have ever before.
And in the last three days I've cut my remaining deliverables from twenty three down to four, and in so blazingly brilliant a way that my boss felt the need to drop by today just to shake my hand.
I've learned a few lessons the last couple of weeks, that it takes pain to achieve, that it takes blood to become a blazing star.
I am deeply sorry if you have not heard from me in recent weeks, I have failed to deliver on a lot of the hugs that I promised to deliver.
I am deeply sorry if I have been curt with you, have delayed in returning your email, or haven't responded to your diary in my usual style.
I still love you dearly for every smile that you have ever brought to anyone's face, and I have not forgotten a single word that you have spoken...
But it will be some days before I catch up to kiss your ruddy cheeks again.
But we finally did groceries for the first time this month after the last item of food in the fridge finally rotted the very day of the snowstorm -- so things are falling back into control again.
Well, relative control.