Babes, I am a terrible blogger. I feel awful for having left you all in the lurch and not touching base, particularly in this uncertain time. This Coronavirus is an enormous pile of shit, isn’t it? Turns out I actually didn’t wanna be off work for six weeks and counting. I often find my mind wandering throughout the day, longing for even just the option to nip down to our local for a large spritzer with my gal pals. For fucks sake, I even want to go back to the gym.
Staying home is so much harder than I ever thought it would be. I am walking more than ever and trying new things (like baking and staying in regular contact with my friends and family), but I am struggling. Overwhelmingly. I have already cleared out my wardrobe, my garden shed, my linen cupboard and every bleeding nook and cranny of my home. I have made a spreadsheet inventory of what is in my food cupboard, fridge and freezer and I have rearranged everything I possibly can. I’ve started writing down all the recipes I inevitably make up on the spot. I engage in weekly Zoom calls with my girlfriends. I am spending more time than ever with my boyfriend. So why on earth do I feel like everything is going to shit? Not having enough of a routine makes my whole brain feel fuzzy, and I feel like with everything I’m trying to do and think about (put washing on, complete 10,000 steps, meditate, learn Spanish, cook nutritious meals, create Instagram content – to name but a few) I get more and more panicked about not doing anything, and work myself up to the point where I have to chill out or take a nap and then fuck all gets done anyway.
Plus, my poor and loveliest ever therapist has had the dreaded Covid and therefore hasn’t been able to join our weekly Facetime for over three weeks. I never knew how much I needed her until now. Even drinking, my usual outlet, leaves me feeling anxious and shit about my feelings and lifestyle. I feel like I spent the first three weeks or so of lockdown enjoying the opportunity to exercise freely, be adventurous in the kitchen and lie in bed for hours on end and now I need something more. But, there just isn’t any more I can do or take on right now. And yet this fills me with guilt.
Basically, pals, I’m fucked if I do and I’m fucked if I don’t. Money is unbearably tight and Jesus Christ I miss my friends, but until this bloody quarantine draws to a close, all we can do is try and be positive where possible and stay the fuck indoors. It makes me feel a hell of a lot better when I get to talk to people (God knows why I’ve avoiding splashing my thoughts and feelings on here for so long), so if you’re the same, please reach out. You can get me on here, or on Facebook and Instagram and for the most part I’m happy to give you my number for a Whatsapp rant/chat/virtual coffee whenever you need it. It’s cliched, I know – but lets stick together.
Having got that enormous burden off my chest somewhat, I would like to end this post by acknowledging that being bored and anxious aren’t the worst things I could be. I know people are putting their lives at risk for others and I know people are in full panic and I know the front line is brimming with those more scared and anxious than I could ever imagine being. I take my hat, bra, socks and fake eyelashes off to every single one of them. They are our Nation’s true heroes and I will forever be grateful and thankful for the work they do.
But yeah, I do still feel like shit for the most part. And it’s OK if you do too. No-one knows what’s happening or how long it will happen for, and you are not alone.
Babes, sending love and safe and healthy wishes. Speak soon, I promise.