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Showing posts from February, 2015

Even superheroes need recovery time.

I have the best of intentions and somehow, here I am, with nothing achieved in real life but a whole generation raised and married off in The Sims.

I would like to say to all busy people (you know who you are) that yes, I do understand this is a waste of time and yes, I do realise there are better things I could be doing and no, I do not have an army of house fairies to make everything fey and beautiful while I sit on the laptop all day.

In my defence (though I resent having to defend it) I've had a very busy week and only today where I didn't have to be doing something. And when I'm busy or have been busy, I need recovery time.

It's at this point that most busy people roll their eyes. They do not understand the idea of recovery time. They have busy lives too and they work full time and they come home and do all their jobs and they don't have time for recovery, they just get on with it (sigh).

And the evenings are enough for them, after the busy day; and the morni…

Some feelings take a while to filter...

It's true that strong feelings can descend from nowhere, like a whirlwind took you through every room in the house, bouncing off walls and leaving you exhausted and drained. But what about when your feelings are not strong? What happens when you don't seem able to feel them at all?

Those times when others are wailing and running about like children, making it seem as if their emotions are so very powerful they have no control over themselves. How quaint! Spare a thought for those of us who take so long to process important events we are still waiting for the first trickles of feelings to break through when everyone else has had the drama and gone home for tea.

Nothing like the meltdowns and stresses, not like the anxiety-induced shivers and tears. Not anything that could be deemed a proper emotion at all. Just a sense that if you were to think about it properly, there may be a feeling somewhere in the room with you. Probably.

Days later, weeks, months and the filtering proces…

No, no, I can't come out...

The smallest of things can keep you in the house, trapped, unable to function, unable to do the most basic of tasks like going to the bin right next to the back door. Setting one foot on the step is the same as bounding across the garden - that one foot feels as visible as your whole body and just as vulnerable.

Imagine trying to explain to a hardened housework enthusiast that it is impossible to empty your kitchen bin because next door are in their garden? That those three steps down to the bin are the same as a rope-bridge event and just as likely to get your adrenaline pumping.

Except, as usual, I'm overreacting. There is no drooling grisly waiting at the back door, or axe murderer or local teen gang bent on trouble. There are no B-movie monsters or small children singing. No, there is only the neighbour and her father doing their garden work.

There they are, right on the other side of the new fence, going up and down with happy, work-hard faces, doing their jobs and Being Th…