I woke up feeling pretty crap today. I wanted an alcohol free weekend, but gave in to the lure of brief sunshine at a family barbecue yesterday and had a few little drinks. Nothing wild, I stopped before 7pm and went to bed at a normal time. But I find having even a couple of drinks disrupts my sleep and makes me feel a bit down as a result. I’m not a glass of wine person, I never have been. I’m either drinking or I’m not, and I’m normally quite good at ‘not’.
So I woke up ratty, guilty, annoyed at myself for not sticking to my plans. Tired and muzzy headed from the intense dreams I have most nights but am usually better able to snap out of. Feeling a little depressed about the state of the world - it was a big news weekend, and the last thing I saw before going to sleep were graphics about domestic violence rates increasing when England lose. I try to avoid news I know is going to horrify me, not in head-in-the-sand way, more in a self-protection, not asking for a menty b way. But in a world where senseless violence is rampant and the US election looms large for all of us, even pop culture feels heavy. Joy feels thin on the ground.
Everything feels a bit Dumpster Fire-y. Am I alone in that? It’s that point of the summer when silly season is in full swing, when the Irish weather is doing its disappointing thing and everyone is just waiting for their time off work. Time feels stilted, with lots of waiting for so and so to get back before things can proceed.
Workwise, I’m deep in the edits for Book Two (which I am HUGELY excited about) and also developing a very fun side project. I am incredibly lucky to do what I do for a living and endlessly grateful for this life I have. But I’m only human, and I have my insecure moments. Instances of creeping doubt, that I should be doing more, earning more, putting myself out there more.
Productivity is generally my thing. I like to be doing lots of different things at once - oddly, that’s what keeps me focused. My friend Sarah is forever perplexed by my desire to work, to do more. But I’ve really been consciously trying to zone in on the things that I love, and pointedly do less of what I don’t. Work smarter, not harder. I really find it tricky. It all comes back to that fatal flaw of impatience, I guess.
One thing that makes me sad is the state of the media landscape both here in Ireland and abroad. The industry has been in major flux since I became a professional writer 16 years ago, and things still feel like they’re getting worse all the time. From fake news to clickbait, slashed budgets to heinous comment sections, putting your work out there as a journalist has never been more demoralising and dangerous to your self-esteem. Plus the news is constantly bad, which takes a toll even on those of us who cover the lighter side of life.
Writing has always been my escape, my way of sorting out my head. It felt natural to write here about how I’m feeling, with no expectations. To reach out and relate to others. I’m constantly looking at my peers who monetise their content here and fair feckin play to them for that, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Because then it would feel like work. Then it wouldn’t feel like a place to write whatever the hell I want. Then it would feel like pressure.
I guess I just woke up feeling a little frightened on this grey Monday morning. It happens, right?
It happens to the best of us Vicki / get into the gym, the endorphins will kick in & you’ll instantly feel better. Abit of self care / manicure, blow dry?
Take care, feel it, it will pass xx
Go for a walk whilst listening to a good audiobook or podcast and treat yourself to something delicious for lunch. I often wake up feeling that way - even if it doesn't totally fix things, at least something nice will have happened for you on what has so far been a rubbish Monday.