working, but not producing

Barely recovered from my mysterious laryngeal infection, I dove into a 3-day conference and then ricocheted from that into an eight-day series of invigilating examinations, broken only by a trip to Russborough House.
We were trying to figure out the landscape changes, which were wrought 250 years ago or thereabouts, the trouble being that almost no records survive, concerning the planning and design of the grounds, which included a linked series of lakes in front of the house, terraces and an ornamental pond behind the house and such architectural features as an ice house, decorative gates, courtyards and a moss house.
Then it was back to invigilation work, pounding the unforgiving concrete floors of the cattle barn where the college students sit their exams. Now that duty is almost over and I will be able to get back to my own work, including transcribing the last 35 letters.
The photocopies of these letters have been sitting patiently on a trolley waiting for me to pay them attention since I returned from Belfast. The work I have not done yet or have turned down or meetings I have not attended, seems to be growing into a mountain.