DVT DAY 332
Wednesday and I get up early to be told I had intruded into my partners space, her alone time, so I made coffee and found a quiet space to drink it until I heard the familar early office day chat going on. I get myself breakfast and check the work I’ve done prior to a work call.
Time comes around to dial in and join the meeting only to find one of the participants cannot use TEAMS so we all log out and come back in on ZOOM. During the call we found that when it comes to do the main work in a months time we will be on Family Size a platform we have never used, which has a screen maximum of 15 people. This paragraph would have been unintelligble a year ago, now it rolls of the frontal lobes with no trouble at all. The call goes well, I think, and we agree what is needed to be done before the review date early next month. I do some post meeting emails and notes to tidy things off and then think about what to do next.
A smoothie lunch and I settle down to listen to a webinar on “Psychological Safe Environments” given by a Dr B who claimed to be a doctor/psychiatrist turned organisational consultant. It lasted an hour. It was unremitingly dour, negative and and provided nothing on how to create a psychologically safe environement only the misery and dread of toxic stress. The presenter managed to boil the whole of psychoneurology down to the “green spot” and the “red spot” to refer to the amygdala and frontal lobe functions. It was a really clear example of patronising the audience. The trouble is that once you take the prescription pad away from a psychistrist they turn into amateur psychologist.
I change into my training kit and head for the garage and the rower for half an hour. My injection sight is still sore but easing so I tried to take an easy pace.
I head for a bath bomb bath and actually read for a few minutes as I listen to some relaxation music. I then slide towards an evening of football, food and a TV drama, The Bay, until I write the blog.
Suddenly I am tired of all this COVID crap, the distancing, the confinement and the stifling of being. I have a day of work to do and a training slot to fill tomorrow, but really the fish need cleaning, the garden tidying and letters to write.
