It's my day off, which I sorely need for laundry and sleep so I can go to work tomorrow wearing clean clothes and at least halfway to functional. But I get a call from work. It has to do with the exhibition that should be finished, but isn't, because your mrsfinch has been dealing with a lot of issues. This is not an excuse, but it'a sign of how the issues are taking over to the point where I fuck up badly at work, which is what has just happened. So, burning with shame and guilt all the while, I did my best to give instructions over the phone as to how to fake out the few remaining cases until I get there tomorrow to fill in the blank spots and finish writing the notes. It just goes to show what a saint my boss is, as well, as she kept saying it's not my fault (it is), that they hadn't been able to clear enough of my schedule to give me time to work on the exhibit uninterrupted (true, but it's still my fault) and that everyone just wants to help and don't worry, we'll have it all wrapped up the end of tomorrow.
I thought about just cancelling my day off and going in, but now I'm in such a state I wouldn't be able to focus anyway, and working 6 days this week is only going to make the fatigue and pain issues worse. But I'm ashamed and guilty. Apparently turning 50 does not exempt you from making a mess of things, though turning 50 does give you value added in the form of berserk hormones which have kept in me in tears since I got the call from work. It's taking all the strength I have not to just set the laundry (3 weeks' worth, if anyone's counting) on fire and go back to bed.