Let something go

I was talking, I was ranting, I was complaining, moaning, confessing to a pal last week about the stress I was feeling about balancing everything. That is I was on and on about how I’m not balancing everything. What a bore. Some items on the list are mould in a forgotten lunchbox. Emerging life forms with thumping heartbeats at the back of the press. One thing on the list is literally ‘schedule fake teeth’. I mean crowns, which are fake teeth.

I’m not getting as much writing done as I thought I would, I said. None of us are, was her paraphrased reply. We were having hot drinks in a café near my office.

Years ago, a successful writer told me I was lazy when I said I didn’t want to get up early to write. Maybe I am. I sort of am. I am. But also, at that time, I knew that if I carved out that time I’d have fallen apart, like a chicken in a pot. I didn’t have any give. I’m still not convinced about sacrificing rest time. Even as someone who sleeps terribly. I think there is something to be said for lying in bed even when you’re so awake you could generate electricity.

Back in the café, I told my friend about some feedback I’d gotten. It was quite negative, which I can handle, there’s no crying in baseball, but it was also frustrating. It was the type of feedback where I immediately thought but did not say aloud, this person is wrong. They don’t get it. No, they’re choosing not to get it. Rejecting feedback can be two things: pure sulking, or the most right you’ll ever be. When I relayed to my friend, who is fair not fawning, what the person had said, she immediately bristled. I got a good ‘what!!’.

That evening, I had tickets to a gig in town and two hours to kill. I had a lot of work work to do, but I decided to dine on the annoyance and wrote 1000 words in a hotel bar. That’s when I realised maybe the secret to balance is neglect. You let something else rot. Prioritise that which you desire. When it suits you. For some people that’s meeting the dawn. It doesn’t mean everyone has to rise and type. I shouldn’t have sulked all those years ago when I heard something I didn’t like from someone I admired, I could have listened. Let it sit with me. Altered the frequency a little.

In the way the early hours of writing eats sleep, the work work was at my heels the next day and week, but I had an extra 1000 words in my pocket. I had something to prove, and now something to show for it all.

P.S. I’m relying on Lainey Gossip for my Bennifer breakup media.

I was in the mood for Grown Up Hallmark so I’m rereading Sarina Bowen’s True North series, which is set in Vermont. Some of the books touch on addiction and trauma, so check before you click buy etc.

What can we learn from menstrual blood? New Yorker longread. I love good science writing. I love learning.

“Anything else, no matter how difficult, could be figured out.” A gorgeous piece from Louise O’Neill on realising what really matters. This is one to bookmark and return to.

A few days ago I suddenly remembered a book I adored as a teenager and young adult, like reread constantly. It was Jude Morgan’s Passion - here’s a link to Kennys.ie - a novel about the women associated with Keats, Byron and Shelley. Those last two, terrible men. The last one ruined lives. It’s such a rich novel, dramatic, extra, the type of thing then me adored and now me adores. It’s why when I was in Rome a decade and a half ago I went to see Keats's grave in the Protestant graveyard and why, around two years ago, I went to the Keats-Shelley house beside the Spanish Steps.

Morgan has an excellent back catalogue - might be a nice distraction in the coming weeks. I remember being giddy reading Indiscretion, a Jane Austen-inspired novel. A lot lighter than Passion, if the thoughts of reading about women being treated like dirt isn’t your thing.