We’re hitting the darkest and longest night tonight, so no wonder I feel like hibernating. Not in any worrying “can’t deal with world” way, just more that I’m exhausted and could sleep for Ireland. This will drag on me like a millstone for the day and then around 10pm, when I’m just considering heading off for some shut-eye, my brain will finally wake and demand to think all the thoughts.
Tonight will be pretty busy anyway as tomorrow we head to parent-land, so all the packing must take place in the scant minutes between the children’s bedtime and ours.
G. is still working all the hours in the day and beyond. I think things are due to ease up a bit by the end of January – they’ll kind of need to as it’ll be head first into book promotion, house deal making, and imminent arrival of child#3. The current way we’re managing our lives is barely sustainable in the short term, and definitely not okay for the long-haul.
I still have an under-ground river of anxiety running through me about G.’s health – especially when he works like this. It feels like he’s carving slivers of life off of himself and handing them over to companies in exchange for … for what? Short term gain? Temporary bandages over deadline commitments that those companies made and then asked G. to stick to?
The only one that I really feel like I can get behind is the book two edits. That, at least, feels like work on his own stuff and for his own gain, (to some degree) within his own control.
But it’s not my life and I don’t, can’t and shouldn’t try to control it. But it does leak over into my life, doesn’t it? Anyway, writing about it here makes it seem like it’s a bigger deal for me than it actually is. I’m just low-level worried about it most of the time is all. It feels like it’s not been just a week long “extra push” but months and months of it.
But then again, I’m really bad when it comes to timelines of emotions. Once I feel something strongly, it seems to seep backwards and forwards in time; I’ve always felt like this; I’ll feel like this forever.
I am the epitome of an unreliable narrator.
I’m also mildly concerned about the state of the world. Mostly I’ve been dealing with the Trump years by sticking metaphorical fingers in metaphorical ears and “la-la-la-ing” in the hopes that it will all be over soon and we can all just go back to our reasonable lives.
But it’s not going away. And we all know the rest of the ostrich is still visible.
I suppose I feel a bit like living in sustained terror and panic is not helping anyone – nor is it something you can keep doing and function in daily life at the same time. And living in the grey is so very exhausting and time-consuming, so it seems nearly reasonable to just shut that whole thing down and check out from the scary-ass world politics for a while.
The problem is that “a while” is at least another two years, and that’s not really all that short of a timespan when you look at what’s going on.
I know, I’m afforded such extreme privilege to even be able to take a break from the whole thing. And yeah, I’m not denying that I’m gonna be utilising that privilege. Already have been. Will continue to do so.
So I’m going to go off and hide my head in the sand of Christmas preparations for the day, and obscure the world with a veneer of celebration and cheer and wasteful excess. Coz I still really like Christmas, problematic as it is; I still really like the beautiful parts of the world that my family and I am lucky enough to get to live in still.