Google searches: washing trainers without ruining them forever (that was the intention, anyway)
I’ve been writing normal/well-thought-out/structured posts recently, but fuck that shit. Fuck it. Fuck pretending I’m not in a freefall, and that I don’t swear like a sailor when the mood strikes. Fuck respectability politics, fuck staying home all the time, fuck being scared.
My old pal frustration is in town. Let’s rattle some cages. Let’s DO SOMETHING!
Yeah, I had this spiritual post in mind about how I need to go in (listening to myself) and out (PUTTING MY BLOODY ART OUT). Not in the mind for it right now. Because suddenly I’ve been mostly home and wtf. WTF.
It snuck up on me. You know that weird feeling when you quit a job and start staying home? I thought I was doing right by myself, at first. In the first week-two I went out a lot, next to new training regime and challenges. Very fast I got sick and was forced to slow down a bit. A tiny bit. A large bit. OMG LIFE IS SO SLOW.
From perfectly legit bit of rest to revival of old habits in no time flat. The struggle is real – I’m not even being ironic. Suddenly I started working from home – which, fair enough, is possible, but going out is necessary sometimes. Suddenly I stopped bloody leaving the house. Suddenly I was fearful, procrastinating, progressively anxious. No. Just no.
The nadir came today – I got my payslip from the old job, which I think is a mistake. About half the money is missing. It made me slightly anxious, and then just really mad. I’m not about to rely on these things. I am the person who got a commission right of the bat, ON THE LAST DAY OF WORK. I am cooler than this. I’m not letting it happen to me. I’ll call them!
As my old acting coach used to say: don’t keep calm and carry on! FREAK THE FUCK OUT AND CHANGE THE WORLD!!!!!
*dances through the blog*