Drink, don’t think

It’s been a bit of a crappy day. Sick son, various work stresses, lots of running around, covid panic, loadshedding. Loadshedding times three, in fact. Seven and a half hours without electricity. Let’s not pretend this is anywhere near the First World.

It all seems horribly out of my control right now.

World’s fucked

commented someone. And he wasn’t far wrong. That’s also (almost) the opening line to Therapy?’s Stop It You’re Killing Me, which given the ever-rising death toll from the virus, seems spookily appropriate.

There are some evenings when you want to drink a bottle of red and think about how things are going and work out how you can improve the situation. But this isn’t one of those evenings. This is just a drink a bottle of red and try not to think about anything kind of evening.

I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling rather hopeless at the moment. But knowing that really doesn’t make things any better.

Heavy task, big ask

It’s been one of those days. Little problems stacking up to make for one big headache:
A loony driver at Koeberg interchange, a rude lady in the parking lot at Canal Walk, experiments not bloody working like they’re supposed to, email issues, poor service from local companies (x3),  the utter, utter disaster that is the “new” M5 south, some “challenging” behaviour from the kids and then finally sitting down to write this blog post and the chair (possibly booby-trapped by my wife?) snapping and sending me left shoulder first into the tiled floor.

It was a full on Nhlanhla Nene moment:

After a day like that, still sitting on the cold, cold floor and with an internet connection which is bordering on the not connected, I trust that you’ll excuse my reluctance to actually produce anything reasonable or worthwhile. Nhlanhla Nene didn’t bother getting up and neither shall I.

Tomorrow will be a better day. Fewer problems. Greater governability.