A while back, I made a dodgy little bookish thing, full of feverish words, and ratty images, airing greivances before circling back to the oft-trotted out gratitude and hope (through gritted teeth). I called it 'A book of Complaint'.
And today, oddly enough, I wanted to find it, but couldn't. So I scrolled through Instagram, got sidetracked into something else, forgot what I was doing and soon felt kind of sick and annoyed. Because, instead of writing this blog post, I wanted to pore over it, giggle a little at its ministrations, admire the freedom of colour and shape, breathe in the different textures, the odd cutout shapes and rough staples and feel a bit better about the shit time I'm having right now. By right now, I mean, 12noon on a Thursday. Not all week, or not even all day. Just now.
Sigh.
OK, confession time: I met with my assistant for the first time since September, (the Mary Poppins-ish one I wrote about a while back), and when I admitted I have been wanting to write a blog post since November, but haven't had the the capacity, which turned into a bit of stage fright or embarassment, she commanded me to: write a blog post! Break the ice! Ugh.
So, here I am, writing the thing, in the time I have available toay, at noon on Thursday (and again at 7.12pm after an appointment, a rush home pick up one kid, then the other, then swimming lessons, then dinner).
Sigh.
I wish I could make a new book of complaint — write it all down, draw it out, use all the creative therapies theories to work through this shitty feeling.
BUT NO. I have to write this bluddy blog post, cos Mary Poppins said so. And she's the boss. And she's not sitting here, so she can't respond and call me out on my shit (something she does, to her credit). Ha!
My (all new!) Book of Complaint.
Avoidance
Instagram, Facebook, newsletters, emails, people, exercise, discomfort. Belittle the things you achieved in the past year, begrudingly do 'the year compass' because you 'should'. Maybe feel better, but don't admit it.
Hair Cut
It's been months. It's dry and brittle. Probs should make an appointment. But then don't. Eye roll.
Dinner
Love making dinner. Love eating it. Yay. Have 'mixed feelings' about deciding what to have for dinner. Consider each blossoming and/or well-developed palate, decide how much energy you have for the inevitable discussions over who does and doesn't like it. Tidy up or watch someone else do that bit. Feel guilty. Or sullen. Try very hard to feel neither of those things and get a bit tetchy.
Laundry.
Sort it, cart it downstairs, turn on the machine, wonder why it needs 3 hours to clean the clothes, make it a short wash then feel guilty that the short wash doesn't allow the machine to do its best work. Set a reminder to avoid leaving it there for three days, hang it out, bring it in, and never ever put it away. I mean, put it away, but not right now. Wait for the arrival of the (rather elusive) energy to teach the kids the life skill of putting away their clothes. Avoid putting away your own clothes until the pile tips over into the pile of dog hair that you didn't vacuum up (I'm sure husband has a robot for that somewhere). Sigh.
Art
Think about the art. Wonder if you'll ever feel good enough about the results. Do it anyway. Feel great. Feel motivated and alive!
Business
Listen to all the podcasts about how you can be a Boss Bitch. Feel unique in how hopelessly unique your hopelessness is. Feel a glimmer of inspiration regardless. Book in your assistant for a planning meeting, feel like there is hope, get back into your bullet journal, write the lists so you remember what to do, write the blog post. Will maybe feel better — particularly if people comment favourably (hint hint)..
Friends
Feel irritable, tired, hopeless. Phone rings. It's a friend — answer it! They have their own complaints, a funny story, OR an invitation to go over and drink champagne and hold each other through a time of great change that, whilst exciting, is also a daunting rollllllercoaster of all the feelings that you have to show up for or you'll be the worse parent in the whole history of the world. Feel immediately better, even with the hangover and concern that you may have partaken in more than your share of food and/or conversation.
Gratitude
Hear your phone ping as you write this blog post and read this message:
I can't thank you enough for your encouragement, belief in me and your incredible expertise and knowledge. This has been such an incredibly positive and constructive way to work through all the cancer trauma and feelings. You're a gem!
Smile. Feel way better.
The. End.
My favourite feel-better resources:
Art and self-care — Buy my kit, free colouring pages, book a massage, lie down outdoors and look up at clouds or stars, walk until the grump shifts.
Take Stock.
Write a list of the things you did well last year — small and big, they're all good. (I used 'year compass' for the first time this year. Good for when you need that 'starting afresh' feeling we sometimes crave in January).
Reduce the load.
Unsubscribe from the crap, but keep the gold (sign up here for my stuff).
This guy always makes me laugh out loud: Mr Bingo‚ (I adore and envy his irreverence. His newsletter is my all time favourite).
Get the hell away from idiotic media content
There's way more fun to be had: bomb dive into your neighbour's pool, crouch down on the ground so your dog investigates by snuffling and licking around your ears (ew! But SO fun, right?!). Rollerskate (but don't break your arm doing so, on the same day as your daughter because you both went rollerskating with the eldest boy and somehow it all went to shit when you felt the rhythm and busted out some moves. TRUE STORY (not mine)).
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