I’ve had to admit defeat. The fist of failure in the face. I’ve gone away for a few days. After this post, no internet, no phone until I can get my head back together.
It’s the new house. It feels like the Personal Budget all over again. I’ve written before how great personalisation is for Steven, for the support workers, for the council but a total nightmare for me. With all the bureaucracy involved in running a personal budget, my relationship with Steven and others has been seriously affected. I have no time. Since the move, it has felt like Groundhog Day. Fantastic for Steven as he loves the house and the close proximity to his family. But for me, there are so many problems with the house that need sorting, I’ve just added another layer of bureaucracy to my bow.
Do you remember that scene in Fawlty Towers where Basil is trying to get Manuel to understand and says despairingly, “I could spend the rest of my life having this conversation”? That’s my life at the moment. Monday was meant to be a peaceful day off. Stupid me, I actually started looking forward to it. In the event, I spent three hours on the phone to the council or one of their many sub contractors. The boiler continues to leak, which causes the water pressure to drop and then the heating and hot water pack up. This has happened every few days since we moved in. I can guess the details of the contract the boiler company has with the council – they get paid per call out. So to them, it is advantageous that we’ve had eight different engineers in six weeks. But not to us.
After the boiler, it was chasing up the council to see what they’re doing about the damp in Steven’s bedroom and the bathroom. Answer is nothing until 28th November.
So on Monday, after squeezing in a client in distress, doing the support workers’ wages and trying to sort out Steven’s council tax, it was 6pm before I noticed. I started at 9.30. My day of switching off.
I’ve developed an allergic reaction to the new carpet. I understand the symbolism and irony in that. I don’t have a leg to stand on.
With the advent of the Christmas adverts on the telly, Steven’s December anxiety has kicked in early. Yesterday, in the space of two hours, I must have repeated the timetable for 1st December over 50 times. Whereas this repetition usually eventually reassures Steven and he calms down, my head is currently mush and I kept getting things in the wrong order. With a clear head, I know that Slade appear before Jonah Louie on the CD we play whilst putting up the Christmas tree. Yesterday, I couldn’t remember the order and the anxiety cranked up. In the midst of this, the ninth boiler man turned up and I fruitlessly tried to juggle with dealing with him and telling Steven that Kirsty & The Pogues are track seven.
Something had to give. Whilst the support worker was doing Steven’s shower, I packed an overnight bag and sneaked out.
Normal service might be resumed as soon as possible.