November 25, 2011

Helen starts her new job this week, which means a completely new routine for both of us – no more night shifts for her and she has to be at work by 8.00 am.  For me this means walking the dog every morning, something I haven’t done for a while, and an empty house five days a week (six in this first week, since Helen’s shift is three days at work, one off, and then another three days).  Hopefully this means I’ll get more work done.  Hopefully…

With typically bad planning I’m also out two nights of her first three shifts.  Yes, I do feel guilty, but neither are occasions I can really duck – one is a farewell to my good friend Eric Brown, who, after four years of living down the road and stoically organising regular get-togethers in Cambridge for the ‘Pickerel Regulars’ (which the rest of us are patently incapable of doing), is moving to Edinburgh next month.  The other is a BSFA-related event that I really ought to attend and, to be honest, really want to.

‘New’ means different, of course, and different means the unknown and the unknown is a source of anxiety.  I’m trying to keep Helen’s mind off that aspect, but I’m not sure how well I’m succeeding.  One thing Helen is definitely not looking forward to is getting up at 6.45 am.  We’d planned a fortnight’s incremental acclimatisation, with me waking her up progressively earlier each morning.  Did it work?  Like hell.  In part because I’m not getting up as early as I used to myself (except for last Thursday, when Sarah Pinborough and I were chatting on Facebook at 4.30 in the morning) and in part because I look at Helen’s sleeping face and think, “Ah…”  I haven’t the heart to wake her, reckoning she deserves to enjoy a lie in while she still has the chance.

So much for forward planning.