I’ve been effectively promoted. My job has been redefined to merge with the one above. This will mean I get more money with no real extra responsibilities; just recognition for the things that I was doing anyway.
However it means that I can’t avoid those responsibilities when they get too much for me, as I could have done in the past although I never did, and last night (technically this morning) they did indeed get too much for me and I was shaking and on the verge of tears when I left work and was still like that an hour after I got home. I went to bed suffering from panic attacks and terrified that a) if I went to sleep I wouldn’t ever wake up again and b) that curiouswombat would be killed in a road accident today. The TT has started and the annual carnage has begun.
The pressures that almost broke me started at around 6 am. In the hours before that there was a long period with nothing much happening except for Air-Sea Rescue helicopters scouring the bay for missing sailors. During that quiet time I knocked off a Buffyverse drabble. 100 words.
Attack of the 50-foot Crayfish
The immense crustacean reared up, snapping its claws ferociously at the Scoobies, and they were forced to retreat. Its armoured carapace resisted every blow and all their weapons bounced off inflicting no damage. Arrows, spells, bricks; they threw everything they had at it but nothing had any effect. When all their ammunition was exhausted they were reduced to throwing toys and action figures at the creature, barraging it with a hail of GI Joes, and Action Men, and Ken dolls.
At last Spike detected that the creature was weakening. “No worries, mates,” he yelled. “Chuck another Barbie on the prawn!”