Worked out and fed up

Warning - minor rant follows...

I have worked my socks off the last 7 days. The book I was working on is finally finished, at last. I got so frustrated as the last chapters were late - I was basically stuck at my desk waiting for them to arrive and I couldn't go off and do anything else as I had no idea when to expect them. In the interim, I was panicking as the next book (insurance!) was due Thursday and I was wondering how the hell I was going to juggle both jobs. Luckily, the insurance book was late and the publisher was well-mannered enough to inform me - we agreed they would send it today. But in the meantime, I was still stuck with the Arab book... and then I got talked into writing a press release for a new client over the weekend, because it was urgent and I was resigned to working on Saturday in any case in order to finish the book.

Saturday arrived and I felt like death. I'd had a rotten night's sleep - I kept waking drenched in sweat and finally gave up at 5am and made a pot of tea. My head was pounding but I'd only had two glasses of wine the night before. It finally dawned on me that I had a cold. I somehow ploughed through the press release but couldn't face the last of the Arab book and went back to bed for a long siesta.

Sunday I tackled the final book chapter, in between additional sleeps and plenty of paracetamol. I was thoroughly cheesed off at the loss of my weekend - not just the work, but feeling ill too.

At least today I am feeling better and I've written the web copy for a regular client's new project site. It'll only need minor tweaks now, leaving the rest of this week clear to edit the insurance book.

This evening, I was planning to relax on the sofa, only to discover to my fury that EastEnders has been scrapped and replaced with the bloody football! There's no justice...