I’m normally good at motivating myself to get on with things, but right now… not so much. My house is a mess, my work an exercise in juggling home-education, my home-education an exercise in juggling work… I’m gaining weight. I miss people but can’t dwell because I need to function. My garden is embarrassing. My mood… “urph”.
I want to curl up in bed and drink tea and read novels. I want to raise hell with friends, sweet, gooey alcohol, and loud music. I want to gallop up rainy, muddy, stinking hills with brilliant rainy, muddy, stinking running buddies. I want to write ruthless fiction, and read the same.
After a year of 7-day working weeks, I no longer feel like doing the necessary: I do not want to clean up my utility room, wash my dog, or tidy the kitchen. I certainly don’t want to do my filing and emails.
Wellbeing, for me, includes a sense of order and a clean home. A sense of accomplishment, of having looked after people. Feeling comfortable in my own skin. All these things I once took for granted that are now barely within reach because this is lockdown – and we’re just feeling so so sooo stir crazy right now… Urph.
I said to my kids today, this is a time to celebrate small wins. Every task done, every call made – little wins. A meal eaten, a room cleaned, a letter written, a dog walked. It’s easier with balance – we’ll clean our kitchen to music, cook healthy food with sweet, gooey sauces, do fifteen minutes of filing before an hour of film. My kids can wash my dog, and bake a cake. One way or another, we’ll sing and dance and wobble our way through this… Ugh, though, to doing it far from many of our friends. Ugh for not having enough hours in the day. And a special ugh for it being Monday tomorrow, a day of many Zooms and demanding exams.
One week to half-term.
I’ve booked the week off, and for the first time this year, there will be lots and lots and lots of fiction. LOTS. And runs.
So many runs.
So much fiction.
Until then, little wins.