I turn up at the newer earlier exercise time, and end up waiting around for ages. Apparently the new times haven’t kicked in just yet, I’m informed by a guy who has been out on the same slot as me for the last couple of mornings. Changing times might not have thrown me, but saying you’re changing the times, then not actually changing the times? The conniptions commence. I imagine a day where I cannot go outside at all, physically shudder, and I determine this must absolutely never come to pass, mentally Gandalfing my staff of stubborness on this particular vow.
The army officer at the desk taking the bookings today for the exercise times tomorrow is oblivious to yesterday’s time changes. I try and tell her. She looks at me like I’m mad. Maybe I just made it up in the sleepless haze of jet lag??? I make a note to turn up extra early tomorrow, just in case.
I tell Jared about the exercise times fiasco, and he retorts: “What, are the Irish running the place?” There are many wonderful things about Ireland, but systems and organisation are not one of them.
I finally get hold of Nana for a decent chat. She tells me how she’s planning her 90th birthday party and how she has so many decisions to make, and it’s all so stressful. (There’s a committee of other family organising it for her, and she just has to tell them what she wants.) She also tells me about the pitfalls of buying hearing aids, finishing with her usual trope of ‘Don’t get old, Lauren, it’s not worth it.’
I have plans of going out in a blaze of glory, not convinced about this whole old age nonsense. What counts as old age though? 90, obviously. But 60? 70? Idk, that’s another quandary for another time. Jared is 42 going on 75, so goodness only knows, whereas I’m more 33 going on 13 most days.
We discuss my inability to settle to anything, to sleep, to sit still for any prolonged period of time.
‘I was talking to my friend who has two kids diagnosed with ADHD. Her kids’ psychiatrist asked her when she was diagnosed. She laughed… then thought about it. Might be something to look into. Then she asked ME if I had been diagnosed. If I think about it, it’s not outside of the realms of possibilities. I come from a long line of workaholics, but if you translate that another way: inability to sit still or relax.’
‘Well, yea, it’s a possibility.’ Nana is not the workaholic I speak of.
‘Look at Grandad. Up at 4am every morning, going to sort out the mail, even into his eighties, then off to his friends’ farms to voluntarily do manual labour for hours, then off again in the afternoon, do-gooding somewhere else. Surely, that’s stretching the realms of normal? The guy had zero chill.’
Sometimes I wonder if it’s the energetic, hyperactive ones that are normal and everyone else is just a bit jealous, so put a label on it. Is there really anything *wrong* with it as such? I think it only becomes a problem when it is outside of your ability to manage it yourself. People are supposed to be energetic. Surely, it’s the lethargic ones that are the oddballs? Or maybe, more accurately, we all dance to the rhythm of a slightly different tempoed drum. How energetic is too energetic though? When are labels helpful? I should probably actually do some further research on the subject.
My credit card company will be overjoyed to have me stuck somewhere with nothing to do but shop online for the next couple of weeks. Art Deco weekend accommodation and activities are all booked and paid for. One of my indulgent purchases has arrived – a memory foam pillow. I’ve been meaning to get myself one for ages, and decided that TODAY was the DAY, and that’s what God invented credit cards for.
One of the things about 2020 that really baffled me was actually what happens when you have nothing but time on your hands. In my magical perfect idealised world in my head, I would obviously have written all the books that swirl around taking up valuable head space, and watched all those movies, actually cleaned the oven = with unlimited time, you’d do all the things that you’ve been putting off for ages, right?
No. It turns out that is in fact bullshit.
It turns out that the reason those things haven’t been done up until now was simply because I never actually wanted to do them enough to get them done. It’s not so much lack of time, as lack of intention. Literally doing nothing was more important than doing that thing. And for most of those things, I’ve survived for this long without doing them…eventually one does begin to wonder if they need to be done at all, or perhaps am I just ‘shoulding’ and making myself feel needlessly obliged and guilty for no particular reason? What if I secretly just never did that thing? Would the world end? We’ve collectively found out the answer is no.
So maybe, save yourself a guilt trip. Surely, iso will be a bit easier if I’m kind to myself. Have a go at drowning the voice of the Inner Administrator with wine, and put your feet up. Or restlessly do laps of your hotel room. Devour as much Whittaker’s as you can get your hands on. Do 100 star jumps on the hour. Phone a friend. Clean every surface of your hotel room. Dance around in your underwear to terrible pop songs. But find the rhythm of your drum that resonates with you, and dance to it.
*That photo tho… gorgeous 😘