Having first procrastinated about whether to write a new entry given how long it’s been since my last one, I decided to go for it.
I now find myself procrastinating about what to write.
I suppose I should start by explaining where I’ve been. But then, I’ve not really been anywhere special. Well, dealing with the usual life drama and on holiday sure but nowhere that’s truly incapacitated my ability to write.
I think my subconscious had something to do with it. Keeping me away I mean.
Yet again, I fail to commit to a routine or a project that will enable me to write. It’s like real life is like this big prison that I can’t break free from. My creativity is on the outside but I’m stuck well and truly on the inside.
So, yeah. Guess I’m in prison.
Sometimes, life gets so busy then when you do finally stop it is overwhelming. Things catch up with you that you thought you had outrun. And you can only take a deep breath and wish for swift passage. And to start moving again.
Ever since my fridge freezer decided to curl up and die on a Sunday evening and all its contents disposed of, I have just completed the mission of restocking the replacement.
And I have to tell you, stocking a fridge freezer (a new one at that) from scratch, has given me the immense satisfaction that I usually only get from writing in a new pad, reading a newspaper first, starting a new diary, wearing a new dress, having clean bedding etc. etc.
I love clean, shiny, new… and now I’m sipping on my freshly chilled prosecco and am enjoying the fact that for tonight at least, all is well with my world.
I am still struggling today.
There is an instant gratification issue and my frustration at the lack of it is starting to hurt my head.
Today, a concern has been raised at work for which I can only currently determine possible scenarios rather than definitive absolutes and there is no way of predicting if or in fact when I will receive full information.
And because said concern will most certainly affect me in one way or another, the ‘not knowing’ has resulted in countless minutes wasted thinking of the ‘what if this happens’ or ‘what if that happens’.
Given my dilemma of yesterday and my conscious downloading of this issue to my blog, today, my self-awareness has sky-rocketed off the charts leaving me with the following observations about myself:
I must know everything.
And I must know as soon as it is possible to know.
I don’t like not knowing about things that may affect me.
I don’t like not having an opportunity to get my point across.
I don’t appreciate the need for silences now and then.
I don’t like not being able to soundly predict future events.
And if I suspect that I am failing at the above, my brain works through every possible scenario and counteraction.
I am simply a control freak.
I don’t like surprises.
Perhaps I should have been a spy.
As the watery, afternoon sun warms my face, I sit and type this with a light head and a peaceful heart.
Somehow, over the last two days I have managed to reach a balance that I have been lacking in a long time. Being able to relax without falling into a state of inertia.
The inertia was often bookended with periods of frenetic activity but in recent days, an equilibrium has settled in my consciousness.
And for the first time in a long while, I feel level.
I have to wonder; when you are experiencing a crisis, a loss or other emotionally turbulent time in your life, why is it that some people see fit to deflect this trauma back onto themselves? Why is that no matter how much you think people who know you would understand how trying you are finding current circumstances, are you always wrong? Why would you underestimate their self-obsession?
Sitting here drinking my Prosecco and nibbling on a bar of chocolate (in place of a hearty, healthy dinner), I have been reading about Blake Lively.
“I hide behind it [my hair] a bit because red carpets can be intimidating. And when my hair is in my face, I feel less exposed.”
“I’m not comfortable as me standing in front of 500 photographers, so I have to go somewhere else and pretend that I’m the confident person you hopefully expect me to be.”
I want to hate her but I just can’t. Because I know how she feels. Like, not because I have to navigate my way through 500 photographers on my way to Morrison’s but because we have all insecurities and I deal with mine the same way. Long hair down, in the face and a mask of confidence to hide the churning that often takes place deep in my gut when I’m uncomfortable/unhappy/insecure etc. etc.
In one way it’s reassuring but in another, it’s concerning – I mean, if she feels like this, even now… what hope do the rest of us have in overcoming it?