Even though I can see the foolishness of writing a blog when my eyelids are drooping and my body is calling out for some rest, I can’t help but write. I’ve been on the go since 6.30am and I don’t seem quite able to admit defeat and get some sleep.
Still, I finished ‘The Full Cupboard of Life’ on the train from Birmingham today, and reading about Mma Ramotswe is almost as good as a rest (though my eyes would beg to differ). Precious thinks most problems can be solved or alleviated with a cup of bush tea, to which I must admit a certain partiality.
On Christmas Eve, as a child, I was always keen to get to bed, because that would mean Christmas day would come quicker. Tonight, I’m avoiding bed with a similar rationale – I have my annual review tomorrow and I’m not looking forward to it. Not going to bed is keeping the review at bay for the moment. It’s not the review of my performance that is worrying me, it’s the tough questions that I have to ask, even though I think I know the answers. I suppose what I’m really avoiding is the hard evidence that things will have to change, and that there are difficult times ahead.
Well, as I often say, things will seem better in the morning…