My life is work. And it's going to get worse. I'll be spending almost every waking moment behind the computer, only taking breaks for eating and sleeping. Note: eating will not usually be preceded by meal preparation unless involving a can or packet or heating up something frozen in the microwave.
So, last night I worked till 3am. I will be endeavouring over the weekend to finish the 230-page book that I am typesetting (my first typesetting job - yes, some of you won't even know what this means or entails but too bad). Um, then there are a few other ongoing jobs that I will be slotting in while I work on my big contract of the year, the production of all the print material for the Film Festivals. I think it's thirteen programmes all up. Anyway, I move in to their offices on Monday. I think this is my eighth year now doing this work, so I know what I'm in for. It's a hard hard slog and we all go a bit mad. Mostly I feel sorry for my kids, although they are all teenagers now and can mostly look after themselves. But they will be eating badly and keeping up with their own laundry, blah blah. My eighteen-year-old son told me last night that he was looking forward to an endless party while I was gone. I think he was trying to wind me up.
I've just got up and so now it is straight back to work. Groan.