Although on the Richter Scale, my life can be considered quite heavy at the moment, I must admit there is no excuse for the sloppy, negligent tramp I’ve become. Some days I don’t even get dressed until 16:00pm, kidding myself into believing it is acceptable because I have holidays. I smell myself, knowing I need to get into the shower any time soon. And did I brush my teeth last night? I have become quite skilled at avoiding the sorry sight of my bewildered garden when I let in the cat and closing my eyes to the piles of dust and unopened mail around me.
Is this the same me who was quite organised and polished only six months ago? Well, it certainly is the new me, apart from the days I hit the road to get to the hospital. On these days, I still manage to put up a semblance of normality, throw on some clothes and paint the face. The car is a total mess, of course, but never mind, it loyally gets me to Rotterdam with cookie crumbs on the floor and lemonade on the steering wheel.
Who cares? I used to.
All the other hours I sit in my office, typing. This has the air of me being very industrious and to some extent I am. I am working hard but not to finish the book that is screaming in my ears. I am busy promoting my début novel, which seems like the only thing I need to do, a laudable mission. To a certain extent this may seem normal, but I’m definitely overdoing it. In spite of my sturdy blinkers, it has now become clear even to me that closing that office door to proclaim I’m working is just an excuse to avoid the harsh reality I find myself in.
Not only my surroundings are a mess, so am I. I don’t move, overeat, drink too much coffee, vegetate. A frozen statue in front of the screen, eyes blurred and neck and arms hurting.
So I’ve decided that as of tomorrow I’m no longer going to indulge in my self-pity. I have a plan.
The new, old me will emerge. I’m going to move: do my yoga, hike, cycle, cook normal meals and eat them, cut down coffee and go to bed at a decent time. Oh, and my bras have been washed so no excuse there!
But most importantly of all: I am going to write again.
Come back and ask me how I’m feeling in a week’s time. I’m determined to stick to the new routine and I know I can for I’ve done it before. End of stupor.
It’s only myself I have to say sorry to and that’s taken care of.