The Stressful Nature of Success

I have the Bank Holiday off, but I’m doing some work at home – getting ahead of myself in the battle to have everything close-to-ready before next weekend. I seem to be going through the same sort of internal trauma that Philippa went through earlier this year, when she turned her back on the family business to step forth into the world of local doctor’s surgeries. I seem to remember I found her difficult to live with while she was working through it all, so I imagine she’s finding me quite difficult to live with now, but don’t tell her I admitted that or I’ll feel obliged to try and make it up to her. I also seem to remember I thought of some good advice for her that I wrote up in a couple of blog postings, but I daren’t look at it now because I have a feeling that I’ll realise it was a load of old bollocks and no good to anyone, rather than the earth-splittingly brilliant advice that I remember it to be.

God - nerves are awful. They’re pointless too. I’m getting myself worked up about a change I’m looking forward to. I’m worried about starting a new job, even though it’s the same job I’ve been doing for the last couple of years, just on a slightly bigger scale. The garages are all running smoothly already, it’s not as if I’m tasked with starting them up from scratch and trying to make them profitable. The changes are only being made to save the company some money, so as long as I don’t make any monumental chuff-ups and cost them millions there really isn’t anything that can go wrong.

And yet still, every couple of hours or so, I get a churning feeling in my bowels as if my stomach has dissolved into acid and dropped into my lower intestine, and I have to rush to the loo or risk papping my undies.

I think it’s time for some alcohol….

RC 27-8-19