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Out of Sync

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On this, as on every, Anzac Day:

They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun
and in the morning
We will remember them.

Lest we forget
 
Well...I've been absent from writing for a while. Mainly 'cause of work, but more recently because of a simple PC upgrade that got horribly complicated and messy.

I upgraded my PC. Bought a second-hand RTX-3080 graphics card from a work friend (he upgraded to the RTX-4090), so I bought his old card.

Got the card, got extra RAM, got a new hard drive...no problem, right?

Wrong.

The RAM and hard drive? Went in easy. The graphics card? My original case was underpowered. So...new case & power supply. So far, so good. But...the card only outputs to one screen. Check drivers are correct and up-to-date, start pulling back hardware, move cables back and forth...nope. Search forums. "Try turning off CSM in your BIOS." No, can't do that...my system was built using MBR format, not GPT. You can convert from MBR to GPT, Windows has its own tool for that...nope. I've somehow got system partitions on C: drive AND D: drive, can't convert one without compromising the whole system (converter won't let me, anyway). Fuck.

So...I'm now at the point of removing all hard drives except C: drive (after I copy everything from C: to an external drive to make sure I don't lose anything), hitting the BIOS to turn on TPM and UEFI and turn off CSM, then wiping my C: and installing Win-11...and starting over.

Joy.
 
I hate being the reliable, dependable person.

I think I've said this before, but right now it's hitting home again. At work, at home...I'm the one who does things, I'm the one who gets things done, I'm the one they turn to.

I get it - it means I can be trusted, my input is valued, my presence is valued, my output is valued.

But for the love of all that's Holy, I wish it didn't come with the burdens and pressure and workload that it does.

I've got my own shit to do, I don't need yours as well. I've got my own work to do, I don't have time for that "urgent favour" you need. If I'm doing your work, who's doing mine? Oh, wait - me. That's okay, I'll help you out, I apparently don't need help with anything. I've barely got enough time to get my own work done, but sure I'll drop everything to help out with your insignificant task. You only have to push two buttons, why the fuck do I have to push them for you? Would you like me to wipe your ass for you as well?

"You want me to do this urgent task for you? Sure - what would you like me to stop doing?" I'd love to say that to someone who asks me to do an "urgent" task for them. Of course, if I did that, I'd likely also get a "please explain" from my team leader. And maybe a query from HR. But damn it's tempting.

Some days I wish I could be as "sick" as one of my colleagues who - when I have a look at the leave register we run - has only done two or three full 5-day weeks for the entire year. If he's not taking an RDO or a day of annual leave here and there, or the occasional public holiday, he's "sick". He may be legitimately sick, I don't know, but it happens so damned often. And when he's not in...I end up covering his late shift. Instantly turns my 8-hour day into a 9-hour day.

I've had enough. But I won't - can't - stop.
 
I haven't said much for a while, here. Mostly because there's been little to really say, but also because...I find myself not caring about much at the moment.

I'm not writing much - at all, really - because I just don't have the mental drive to write anything. And that lack of mental drive is impacting me in other areas of life as well.

I think that, right now, I'm doing little more than existing. Going through the motions. Saying the right words, doing the right things...but it's all hollow inside; if there is an emotional spark from something, it's only a fleeting sensation that quickly fades. I'm aware that my Depression is flaring and hitting me harder, but there's little I can do about it, in part due to the afore-mentioned lack of mental drive.

Sleep is a part of that, for sure. I took a week off work a few weeks ago - I was sick, at first with a cold, then with a throat infection (the cold settled down, and the infection settled in). It wrecked my already-dicey sleep patterns, and I've never properly recovered.

My diet is another part of that; but because I don't care about a lot of things in general, I don't care about my diet in particular. So I'm slowly increasing my junk intake at the expense of my healthy intake. I should care, but I don't.

So...maybe I'll try and get back into my solo story. It's been a long time since I looked at it with an eye to continuing it, although I still read through it on occasion. I'm proud of that work...in what limited capacity I have to feel any emotion at the moment. Although...it might be time to put that story to rest and start a new solo project. I've got a few chapters written that I haven't posted, so I might post those and then work up something new. That might be the simplest way to get my writing groove back - by working on a story where the only timeline is the one I impose on myself, and it doesn't really matter if I take a week longer to respond.

Who know? I might get lucky and get run over by a bus instead.
 
It was 10 years ago today that Dad died. He was a great father, a good dad, always open to a cup of tea when we visited - first thing he did when we walked through the door was put the kettle on, before we could sit down and start talking. He had a great sense of humour, with a bit of cheek thrown in.

He went quickly - had a stroke late on the Saturday night, was unconscious before he got to hospital, never woke up, and died in the early hours of Tuesday. He never knew he was going...or I like to think he didn't know.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. You're still missed.
 
So...lately (as in the past few months, if not longer) I've been wondering whether I may not be mildly autistic, in additional to suffering from Depression.

Some of the stigma/signs are there: struggling with emotional concepts (including communication); blunt/direct communication and thinking; don't like my things moved or left of place; don't like small talk; difficulty in building and maintaining friendships; getting bothered when my daily routines are interrupted; prefer being and working alone. Having an existing mental illness is also a possible clue.

I honestly don't know, but, in a way...it feels right.

I know the next step would be to seek a medical opinion with a view to testing and diagnosis, but I don't know if I'm ready to face that in case my supposition turns out to be accurate. In a way, having my suspicions confirmed would be great, as it means I can be confidently aware of my own shortcomings...but at the same time, if it turns out to be accurate then it's another weight on my already fragile mental state.

And it took me years to seek guidance for my Depression.
 
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"The Road to Hell is paved with Good Intentions."

In my case, it's more that I mean well and my intended cause is good, but the unintended consequences of my actions backfire on me badly.

And if you look up my personal details, you'll find my residential address on that Road.
 
Generic person: "Hi, how are you?"
Me: "I'm doing fine, thanks."

Really me: No, I'm not fine; I'm just saying that because I know there's absolutely nothing you can do to help me deal with my internal struggles, and I also know that the chances of you actually caring are vanishingly small, so I'm just giving you the lip-service answer to the lip-service question.
 
Recently (earlier today) got back from having a nice, peaceful weekend away. Went into the nearby mountains to a holiday resort, spent a couple of nights away in the peace & quiet with my wife, did a Day Spa Massage with her (never done one of those before: I don't mind the massage, but not a fan of the oils), enjoyed being away from everything. It was quiet, peaceful, relaxing.

The occasion?

25 years of marriage.

We've earned it. It was nice to get away and celebrate in a relaxing atmosphere.
 
Tribute to Harry New
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    • A pet - a loved pet - is a family member. So much so that they become a part of your life. They don't talk, but they listen. They bring you joy, they bring you happiness. Spending time with them is relaxing.

    I had all that with Harry. He was a little villain, but he was always there, scampering round the kitchen and family area. He didn't like being picked up and cuddled, but he loved his pats and scratches.

    He loved carrots, even though they weren't good for him. It was my morning routine to give him a couple of small carrot sticks, buried under a small pile of lettuce leaves. He was always excited to see me in the morning, as he knew he was going to get his morning feed - he'd dart from one end of his area to the other and back, he'd stretch up to get that first carrot stick from my hand and happily chomp in it while I set up the carrot and lettuce pile. His little nose twitched almost violently when I was feeding him his carrots.

    Shopping days were fun, too. The grocery bags often just got dumped in a pile by the kitchen bench, so Harry took to sitting on them and occasionally trying to burrow under them. Getting him off them so I could put them away was a fun task.

    But mostly I'll miss the late-night talks with him. He'd come up close and sniff and nuzzle while I'd tell him things I couldn't - can't - tell anyone else. He listened to me when I was down, even though he had no idea what I was saying to him. He just enjoyed the company and the pats.

    Farewell, Harry. I'll miss you.

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