I seem to have hit the panic phase of the six weeks holiday earlier than normal. We are only two weeks in and already I can see that it's not enough time. The first week was spent just relaxing enough to feel normal. The second week was spent cleaning and now I'm in panic mode.
The Long Suffering Husband had a day off from his new full-time job as a retired person; one day without a golf game. He said, "Let's do something."
"Oh...That...would be ni....actually....I'm not sure.....still too much....the cupboard....book...."
I looked up and saw him looking at me with 'that' look. And I realised that I was in panic mode.
There should have been a clue that it was coming early when I had a full on panic attack in a bookshop. It was a shock. Bookshops are usually my safe space but last Saturday I walked into Waterstones and couldn't breathe. The books jumped up and down on the shelves and shouted. They all wanted to be read and all I could think was that there's not enough time.
"Don't panic!" I thought to myself, imagining the front cover of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which was gifted to Arthur Dent just as the Earth was about to be flattened to make a new interstellar highway. Of all the times to be told not to panic.
I read somewhere that of all the times you panic, it is only 8% of those times when the thing you are panicking about will come true, which is why you shouldn't panic. But I will never read all the books, my cupboards will never be clean and tidy forever and it looks like I'll never finish writing this blessed book.
Even my fitbit has been trolling me. Whenever I look at it near the end of the day, when I realise that I need to sit down and do some words, it tells me the date I should be writing about.
I’ve stopped taking photos because I know….1882! |
If you are prone to a touch of panic then can I recommend that you don't ever think about writing a book, unless, of course you are actually talented and hard working and able to finish anything without forgetting to eat.
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