Turning to drink would the easiest solution but he's a better than your common alcoholic, or at least that's what he thinks. The Father wouldn't dare look at an illicit substances for help, nor is he willing to entertain the thought. So he keeps typing away at the chunky keyboard of the CRT they have in the basement unfortunately sober. The break he gets is when he has to transition to the paper forms, now he gets to look at paper instead of the always headache causing screen.

There's no telling long he's been down there. Everything had been procrastinated until it it absolutely had to be done. The dull pounding of his head only grew, vision turning fuzzy even with the help of his glasses. Muttered curses were uttered before the holy man tossed his wire frames on his desk to then lean back in his chair and rub at his temples. This was torturous and only created undue resentment towards the rest of the clergy. He hated doing such stupid monotonous work.