Last night I had dreams where I felt the baby kicking me. I don’t know if it was a dream reaction to a real occurrence or just a dream memory. It just kind of stuck with me anyway.

Baby hasn’t been moving too much over the past day or two, and I’m doing pretty well (in my opinion) managing my anxiety around that. You’re not really “supposed” to be counting kicks or anything ’til 28 weeks and even then they reckon you’re okay with 10 movements felt in 2 hours, which I think is way too few, but I suppose a baby can be sleeping a lot, and even the bigger ones probably make a ton of small movements that you never feel at all.

I don’t know if it’s the steps I’ve taken to manage my anxiety are helping, or if it’s just that I’ve gotten used to it. “Oh, he’s having one of his quiet days. That makes sense after the storm he was kicking up yesterday.” kind of thing. Maybe a bit of both.

I’d like to think that I’m managing okay, but I did descend into overwhelm yesterday afternoon when I wanted to both walk the dogs and go to the post office and couldn’t figure out a way to do both at once without G.’s help. Neither was urgent, but I just got kind of trapped in the image of doing things one specific way and I was finding it really hard to let go.

Of course it’s fine. It’s minor – the whole thing was just a minor incident – including when I got a bit tearful about the whole thing, but … it’s probably an indicator, right? That I’m not really fully well in my mental health.

I’ve been referred to MedMark (who do Occupational Health in this country) because I’ve been signed off of work for more than 28 days. I haven’t had a call from them just yet, but I suppose they’ll be asking me what’s wrong with me. A phone interview or whatever. I know that the SPD is enough of a reason, but part of me feels inclined to mention the heightened anxiety as well. Although … do I really want that on my record? See, the stigma surrounding mental health rears its head again.

Last night was a disaster sleep-wise. I hopped beds at least 4 different times and right now I feel like I could drift back into sleep with very little provocation. I don’t really want to go back to sleep this morning though, so I’m going to attempt to push through. I’m delighted it’s the weekend, but I can’t believe the week went so fast! There’s still a whole bunch of “handover” stuff to do and the house barely looks any better than it did this time last week.

Well, I kind of don’t care. Like, I do care – a little. Even a lot on some level, but I just feel like it’s none of it worth getting in a tizzy about. There we go, maybe I am managing my anxiety on some level. Maybe I’m just tired and I recognise that as the priority right now.

I’d like to be doing something “more” with my time though. More “me”. Drawing, writing, something. I’ve left my poor book lie abandoned since before the start of Summer. Something’s been stopping me going back. Probably not really feeling that it’s any good. But it kind of doesn’t matter that it’s not any good. It’s just about doing it. Getting it done and having it accomplished, and then it can languish unread in the Internet equivalent of a desk drawer for all eternity.

I think what I need to do is spend some time on an outline and an actual plot so that I know where it’s going rather than just mindlessly hammering dialogue and description into Scrivener each morning.

I’m just not ready yet though. I don’t know how to encourage myself back into it. Realistically starting is the only way. I think it’s easy to get excited about a new and shiny project and I love the thrill of potential that comes with every new one. I find it very very hard to go back and finish old ones though. Like The Harvesters or Fish for Fish. I always stop in the middle of a chapter too, leaving these fronds and tendrils of story hanging incomplete in the wind.

I have great intentions.

They’ll engrave that on my tombstone.