As per, I’m panicking to meet a deadline. I carry an infallible schedule and list of dates in my head as well as on my Filofax and now in my iPad. When I say infallible, I mean it never fails to trip me up. The problem is I don’t have a “sync” button that keeps the information in my head aligned with what’s written down. So I get dates wrong, miss appointments, and end up working frantically to meet a deadline which I’d thought was at least a month away…
Mind you I work best to a tight deadline, usually. This time has been different. I am throwing away more drawings than I’m keeping. It’s the stress of being away from home, dealing with Mum who is hyper-stressed because of Dad being in a Carehome. This is not what either of them (or the rest of us wanted) but it had to be done and he’s in a lovely home with great staff – clean, modern and well-run. Mum has turned them upside down, nit-picked at every detail, driven the staff mad and overstayed her welcome every day. The staff have been really tolerant and understanding, with the chef even coming to see Mum every day to find out what Dad could manage for his tea. Talk about going the extrile. F Not my doing, just inally Mum seems to be accepting the inevitable but in the meantime has driven my sister and brother-in-law, her usual support team, to unbelievable levels of stress and frustration. This is where I come in – the cavalry arriving at the crucial moment, not because I can do anything different but because I can give them a break and absorb some of their stress for a few weeks.
Only problem is I’d also mistakenly thought my exhibition was going to start in May, only to find it’s going to be up for 2 months, not 1 month, so it’s got to go up in April, hence me drawing and painting at every moment and for the first time ever (that I can remember), it’s only working about 25% of the time.
Fortunately Mum seems to be coming to a point where she’s more accepting of the status quo and understanding that Dad is in good hands and will be well cared for as his illness inevitably takes it’s sad toll. Nothing I’ve done, just time and seeing Dad settling into a routine with chirpy, caring staff who try to keep him happy and comfortable. I have overwhelming respect for the good ones, some are a bit more “jobsworth” than others, but the majority are fabulous and somehow manage to deal cheerfully with the most difficult and vulnerable people.
So if my exhibition doesn’t have as many paintings as I’d like, does it really matter. It’s not life and death, is it, and I’m hoping my new iPad will keep me on track with the reminders I need, so I can plan ahead more effectively in the future (I can hear you all muttering under your breath but it might help …)