It’s hard, isn’t it? Those ups and downs. Not metaphorically, but literally. Someone literally could be lifting you up into the clouds just to slam you back down. Head first. Onto concrete. This weekend has been a flurry of emotions. Fueled by adrenaline I’ve been sat on rooftops. And then I’ve been shoved back down to a place we like to call harsh reality.
This weekend I’ve been super busy – busier than any other weekend of 2017. I woke up at 7:20am Saturday morning; was up & dressed & at work for 8:45; finished work at 5 and headed to the station. I took a train to Sheffield and met up with the amazing Molly for 1/2 Chicken and 2 reg sides of garlic bread and creamy mash (aaah, Nandos). £13. Not bad. We said our goodbyes. I was home and in bed for 11pm. Up at 7:30 Sunday (I know, even on the day of rest!) to dye my hair a glorious shade of purple and turn my Mother’s grey’s to chocolate brown. We got ready around the smell of ammonia and I headed to #ObstructionSheffield for their 5k Obstacle Run event. I preceded to run 5k (in a place not as flat as York) and crawl up/through/over things like I was playing a part in We’re Going on a Bear Hunt.
It was a very fun & energising weekend. I was on a high.
But once on a high, at some point you tend to float back down. And it isn’t graceful. And it isn’t elegant. The world doesn’t pace itself. It doesn’t consider that you might hurt your bum if you fall to the ground without anything to catch you. It doesn’t think about your feelings, like we think it ought to. Life just takes control and..happens.
I got home Sunday evening at approximately 7pm. I hadn’t eaten dinner. In fact, I’d had 2 Kit-Kats and a pack of raisins for lunch. Please see below to evidence how I was feeling at 7pm Sunday eve:
I was hungry and sad because in my eyes, the fun was over.
I’d been home to my family, a place I’m reminded is as relaxing as a holiday spot, and had a blast socialising with old friends and running through (and in) the mud. My tomboy side and my chatterbox side were set free to roam. And, back in York, I sat alone in my room, with only my tummy rumble to keep me company, and thought how I could possibly live my life in York when there was something so much cooler out “there”.
I’ll admit. I’m fine now. I’ve got over it. But even after sleeping on it, (and even after pasta had settled my tummy), Monday morning left me with a hangover of this horrific mood. It wouldn’t leave. It rested in my soul; it had taken route. I wanted to know how to move it; or atleast forget about it. But I couldn’t. Not on my own. It took a few people to make me re-address and find focus again in the day-to-day.
The day-to-day isn’t always fun. I only keep my toes crossed that I will find a job that takes hold of my restlessness and keeps boredom away. The good thing about the downs is that you will eventually spring back up. The best thing about the downs is that you generally learn something from each and every one of them.
Today I remind myself to always instigate Projects. I capitalise this word because it has earned that respect and worth. Projects create meaning. They set goals. They provide satisfaction of achievement. They promote self worth. They keep you busy.
So, by Monday eve, I have set myself the task of updating my CV to apply for work experience in Marketing & Social Media. I started some Social Media work for my parents company. I went to get books from the library. I did a load of washing. I bought a folder from Paperchase. I returned a top to Primark. I went to Waterstones. And I cooked more pasta.
And I feel fab. A good 90%. And tomorrow – tomorrow is a busy day.