Total fuck up

Things are so depressing I don't even know where to start.

Work is shit. I fucking hate working this way, all the empathy I always enjoyed with my team is not around. We used to understand each other without a word, and now it seems that, without a half an hour phone call, they can't even tie their own shoelaces.
The truth is, most of them have been living alone in a one or two rooms apartment alone for the past 9 weeks, going out once a week for grocery shopping, and by now they can't seem to focus if it's a matter of life and death (and honestly, who can blame them?).
This leads to A LOT of inefficiencies. I work 12h per day + 5 or 6 hours in the weekend and I'm still lagging behind.

In all this, my boss just asked me to take a day of paid leave (while working of course) for the next 15 weeks. In the end, this equals a salary haircut (as per our labour law, you get paid your unused vacation when you leave the company - so 20 days of paid leave accrued means 1 month of salary).
Also, there is no understanding if I'm getting my bonus, which equals my fixed salary. We close books at the end of June, and before CoVid I had already met ALL my targets for this year (including sales). I was the only one (and was still kicked out of the process to be made equity partner).
My bonus equals my fixed salary. So potentially, further haircut up to 50% of my total annual income.

Meanwhile, I gained a ton of weight. When I'll go back I need to fast for about 10000393048123847 weeks

Oh, and the flat for which we signed a cheque the day before lockdown? Who knows, they disappeared.

By the way, clearly I'm not pregnant, given I'm on a fucking period (couldn't you tell?). I swear I did not remember that periods were so fucking disgusting.

Everything just seems to be a total fuck up

The lake

When the night is almost over, she drops randomly, 

folding over and staining the horrors; 

but if you can just get lost next to the lake,

it will sooth you and calm you

until you can no longer breathe.

How beautiful the lights reflected on the water

fooling anyone

And if you want, you can cut it in pieces

It's then that silence throws on the water

the ticking of clocks that are rotting.

Down there you can find that girl, minding her breath and her skirt

As wide and open as floating flowers

She's dancing, she's burning bright, she's feeling

it's not worth it, life is not worth it

the crazy life of a financial advisor during lockdown

The morning starts well. By now (after 5 weeks of smart-working from my parents' place and 3 weeks of total lockdown) Husband and I have completely corrupted my mother's black cat.
The Panther (aka Mom) has two cats: Tigros - a smart huntress, intelligent, reactive and a bit of a tedious whore if you want my point of view - and Negus (which means black prince in Ethiopia).
Negus is the dumb brother, he's a black cat who only has (had?) one goal in his life: being petted by my parents. He's super-loyal and affectionate, but the Panther always had a thing for intelligent ones (see Bro and I, where I was treated like the accident daughter until my late twenties).
After these weeks, where we have been spending only on treats for Negus, he's finally moved downstairs with us (insert evil laugh here).
So in the morning he steps in from our bedroom window and plops down on our bed, right in the middle. Goodbye morning sex by the way - clearly gaining the cat's affection has become more vital.

Despite everything, two clients managed to close their transactions this week - I usually don't develop much on my job, but basically they have acquired other companies. Given the lockdown (and the recession), it's almost a miracle.

Fast forward through a morning of conference calls, lunch with the family and quickly preparing some bread (currently baking in the wood stove upstairs).
At 2.45PM I was preparing for a long videoconference when a girl rings our bell and frantically warns that, in the filed close to our home where we keep the hens, she spotted a dog chasing Mom's hens.
Now, the Panther is a bit peculiar - we are virtually vegetarian and she takes very good care of her hens that are more like pets then anything else.
Husband reached that part of the yard first - blame it on my knee surgery, but I still cannot run (not even a few steps) at the risk of stumbling down. By the time I got there, it was a mix between a will coyote cartoon and a zombie apocalypse movie. The hens are 14 and live a very large yard, with their coop (the fox comes every night so they must be locked sunset to sunrise) lots of grass, bushes and trees.
There were feathers everywhere, bloodied pieces of hens spread around, dead hens, hens running like crazy and in the middle, my beautiful, brave, big husband with a pitchfork, chasing a pitbull that was chasing hens.
Surreal.
He managed to scare away the dog while my parents reached the owner, and then we proceeded for the next hour in counting the fallen, the injured and grouping the scared healthy survivors.

All while trying to soothe the poor Panther, who was very grateful towards us, until I suddenly realized I was 30 minutes late for a conference call, and absentmindedly dropped an F bomb right in the face of my Mom. Aw, well, fuck it.

Fast forward through a boring call, more cat therapy, realizing that I screamed into the dog owner's face that he is a fucking moron who likes to butt-fuck his sister (and most important, realizing I dropped all this in front of the Panther but she was probably in shock or something because she did not flinch nor mention this), I finally remember to bake bread for dinner.

While the bread was baking in the wooden stove I was strolling through pant-suits on IG and started wondering if we'll really ever go back to the pant-suit and heels life (well if my knee does not heal I can probably forget the heels). Back to the city, professional version of ourselves?
I honestly don't know any longer, but meanwhile I took a mental note that I need to fetch more wood for the chimney tomorrow morning.