The problem with this blog, is that I feel the need to be continuously profound.
I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that random Thursday when I slept through my alarm, wore mismatched socks to work and took a bag of funky-looking spinach greens to eat on the Tube for breakfast. It isn’t exciting, or inspiring – if anything it’s kind of gross. So, when I sit down at my laptop and attempt to pen (well type) life changing, award wining and insightful pieces of journalism, I get pretty angry. Because the truth is, this website is just me, and as much as I wish (for your entertainment purposes only) that my life was like an episode of Coronation Street, it isn’t. It’s mostly full of mundane boring activities, like trying to write entire texts in emoticons or unsuccessfully willing myself out from under warm bed sheets each morning.
More recently though, my life has been about unsuccessfully trying to will myself to be kinder to …well… myself.
You see, the other day I went to the Doctors (told you my life was really exciting), and he told me that I have shingles.
If you don’t know much about it (which you probably don’t), shingles is basically like an adult version of chicken pox, that is known to come along when we are tired, stressed and run down. Shingles is basically your body telling you to calm the fuck down.
There have been a few people in my life telling me that recently. The boy has probably tried to sit me down and have a conversation about my stress levels over a hundred times in the last few months – but, at the grand old age of 26, my stubborn ass has never listened to anyone else, so why would it now?
Well, ass, maybe you should listen to yourself.
Because this illness literally feels like my insides yelling at my brain, telling it to stop being such an uptight bitch.
The other day I read an article about Jamie Oliver where he said something like “I haven’t had more than three and a half hours’ sleep in 12 years”, and I thought of it like a challenge. My eyes widened to the insight into a successful mans life. Because we spend so long wondering how they do it – whether it be models with great bodies or creative geniuses… and I felt like I’d stumbled on the answer. I could feel my head saying “right, Isobel, from now on, if you sleep more that three hours each night you are clearly lazy and unwilling to achieve in life”.
I sort of feel like a bad mum. You see, I’ve been put in charge of myself, and I am not doing a very good job. We go out there in the world and we pretend to be adults (even our parents are still pretending) and we say “don’t worry, I got this”. We earn money, we are even spending some of it on reasonable things like rent. We go to work, and even rock up on time most days. We can even hold some somewhat adult conversations about our political opinions, or how ridiculous price of milk is. So, it’s hard for me to say, but I don’t got this. This is really hard, and I’m struggling.
London is a long way away from everything I know. Everything that makes me feel at ease. And I saw this adventure, this move, as a chance to do all the things I wanted. Like a fresh start.
The problem is, I want a lot of things for myself. For my life. For my future. And I am sort of drowning in them all.
So, in an effort to listen to myself and to stop talking about my failures, and to stop judging myself on others. I see this, rather itchy, rash as a good thing.
I might ignore my parents, and the boy, but I am going to try not to ignore myself. I’m going to slow down. Gone are the days in which I try to run marathons, write cookbooks and recover from my harrowing cashew addiction all at once.
I’m not saying there is anything wrong with my ambitious nature and my desire to succeed, because there is not. While others may see those traits as something you find on a Donald Trump-esque, cut throat, don’t-care-about-who-I-hurt-on-the-way-up guys, I see them as great and powerful qualities that I am proud of. I just need to find my feet on how to use them.
Right now, you see, I’m going to use them to eradicate the boys’ latest catchy tune from the face of the earth, because if I hear one more rendition of “shingle bells” I might scream.
Sidenote My mother also recently got shingles, which is making me seriously question the ability to catch illness through Skype. Because life can’t be that effing coincidental, can it?