Welcome to my week. A week where the clocks in the UK went back, and we got yet an extra hour of this godawful year. A week where we are back into an English lockdown after Boris delivered his Halloween Special. A week where world leaders act like spoilt brats and won't let go of the ball. A week where every anxious thought, niggle and worry that normally simmers under the surface, has risen up to disturb my already busy head.
I have hit another spell where I am waking most nights at Silly-o’clock - somewhere the other side of midnight. I have written about this night waking before - there is no set pattern, no rhyme or reason and it doesn’t happen every night. But when it does, that is when the little demon who has been rehearsing all week to make my night hell, kicks in. It starts off with nagging doubt, progresses through deep regret and ends at around 6.30 am just before the alarm with impending doom. Everything I have ever done, everything I have ever said is played to me over and over again.
It obviously has a knock-on effect on how I feel during the day. I have found concentrating at work almost impossible this week and writing a blog has been challenging - I have been nodding off at my desk, jolting as my head falls forward; or worse, waking to find letters imprinted onto my forehead and dribble on the keyboard. I am just about capable of punching information into a database I use for work, but my creative side is still catching a few zeds… so please forgive the forthcoming vacuous whiffle-whaffle.
I know I am not the only one who feels like this. My days are full of procrastination. I’m avoiding making decisions. I’m dilly-dallying over everything whether that is what to have for dinner or what to watch on TV. Lockdown has been enforced yet it doesn’t have the novelty value of last time, where we all felt we were in it all together, working towards flattening the curve for the good of the country. This time, we feel cheated – doing it again? Really? Is it going to work this time? Is this the beginning of a cycle of lockdowns which will dictate our foreseeable future? I am not going to spout here about statistics and figures, or lives being saved and the good it will do the country. I am not going to comment about friends who have had to close their holiday lets or put their therapy businesses on hold – or what exactly constitutes a non-essential shop. I am not going to talk about how absurd it looks to the outsider, where young adults and children can go to a place of study – spend a day in a class with upwards of 25 peers, play sport with them, eat lunch indoors, run around playgrounds – yet will be flouting the law if 3 of them meet ten minutes after the school bell rings, to have a socially distanced walk or kick a football around the park on the way back from school. I am not going to harp on about how confused we all are – in a tier - is it 1,2,3, not in a tier; go to school, don’t go to school; work don’t work; work from home; stay away but in; go out, but not ‘out-out’; lockdown but not the same kind of lockdown – whiff whaff whoff, thank you Boris for the clarity.
And I am definitely not going to mention just how weary this is making us all.
Is it this general underlying angst of the country which is cruelly disturbing my beauty sleep at 3am? Or is it the onset of winter – this one so very dark without the attractive comfort of snug country pubs, the explosive crackle of fireworks or the twinkly lead up to Christmas? Or the fact I cannot make proper plans? The thought of a night out with friends or a holiday on the horizon normally lifts me over the steepest of moods. We have been told we may get our Christmases, but I really can’t see how we are going to be anywhere near the new normal by then. I feel for those with family stretched far and wide; and am deeply sad for those with loved ones suffering in silence.
And what about my own anxiety? Pah! I have a degree in that. It has rocketed just a bit – not helped with the lack of sleep. I am tight lipped and frowny. I am snapping at loved ones and jumping down their necks. I am a crotchety old crow hell bent on winning arguments. I have been anxious this week, overthinking and worrying about everything – from why the heck the funny little orange engine warning light on the car is coming on again; to how I am ever going to fit in the gap year I never had, if I am going to be working until I am 99 years old just to pay off the mortgage. The little worry-worm has tucked itself cosily under my collar just to make sure I can’t even take a hot bath without worrying if we have enough heating oil. Not surprised my night times haven’t been nice times.
So, that has been my week. YES, I know people are a lot worse off than me. YES, I know I have my physical health, my family is safe and I still have my job. YES, I know I am living in a house with access to lots of country walks and our part of the country has a low rate of COVID cases. But, as I have reiterated before – I am allowed to wallow, as my fears and pain are just as valid as anyone else’s.
Especially if I haven’t had any sleep.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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