If you don't feel like reading a panicky rant, feel free to skip this. I need to write it, but I don't necessarily need people to read it.
I'm starting to realise that I just can't work in any proper sense in the lounge, with the TV that's permanently on in my peripheral vision. Even when what's on is stuff that I hate, that I wouldn't let people pay me to watch, I take it as evidence that this isn't work time, this isn't time when I should be concentrating, this is faff on the internet time. This isn't important. And the fact that this is also where I do all my paperwork, that bills and letters and magazines are between me and the monitor? Doesn't help at all.
Right now I am listening to a CD quite loud, and I still just had to get D to turn the TV down, because even though it's actually on quieter than we usually watch, I just couldn't tune the stupid thing out.
And no, turning the TV off isn't an option when your darling husband is addicted. And the times when he's reading never coincide with the times I'm working.
Honestly, I could scream right now. I have left work every night this week with the express intention of writing a first draft of my End of Course Assessment (ECA), so I can post it online for feedback by tonight's deadline. So I can sit on it for a few days before I start working on it, polish the living daylights out of it by 3rd June, when I need to send the damned thing off. And have I done it? No. Monday I was ill (and missed the Poppy Shakespeare event I'd mentioned, which I am *so frustrated* about). Tuesday went to the hospital to visit a friend of mine who is now out and better. Wednesday went food shopping and then couldn't concentrate. Last night went to see parents in law. Tonight went for quick drink after work (was home by 7pm or thereabouts; was a friend's leaving do so couldn't miss it entirely) then instead of working I read every new post through google reader. Played bejewelled (I wish I'd never rediscovered that damned game) and tetris (ditto, ditto, a majillion times ditto). And it's half stupid fricking ten and I have done NOTHING beyond half a half-hearted cluster diagram on one of the main characters.
I keep saying I need a laptop, but I can't afford one. First the car, then our bedroom (... have I mentioned that we bought a car and started to decorate our bedroom?). They've left fairly large holes, between them, where before we had a small, tiny, amount of savings. For the first time ever. I was so proud of getting out of debt, so adamant that we were not going to go back there. We wouldn't have started to decorate if we'd realised D's new job would involve car ownership and all the expense that goes with it. But we'd started, and we couldn't leave the room in the state it was in once we'd taken the wallpaper and ceiling tiles off. It had a red and white ceiling for chrissakes. I could barely sleep in it.
I can't even bear to add up how much debt we are in now. It's nothing terribly awful compared to some people, nothing compared to the £12k debt I was in before.... maybe £1.5k on 0% credit cards, which will not take us long to pay off... but.
That puts other plans off, plans I've been desperate to put into being for so, so long.
So what to do? Or, as I posted on facebook earlier, B is wondering if it'd be totally frickin insane to buy a laptop that she totally can't afford or just an investment in her future, a sign she takes it seriously?
I don't know what to do first. To go to bed and get a good night's sleep, wake up early and work then. To just push on and get that stupid torturous first draft out onto the computer? To do all the stuff that needs doing round and about so there are not piles of stuff everywhere to distract me? To write a list of all the works in progress (about five) that are currently coming out of my ears so I can stop thinking about them until I've got the ECA out of the way?
I suspect that sleep is the most sensible option, right now.
Music: The Killers, Sawdust.