That's a direct quote from me, there. It's from one of my old diaries, and I meant it in relation to boredom. But it also works quite well in relation to "not letting yourself wallow".
Sundays are prime days for wallowing, I find. Or at least recently they could be, since I've been living on my own. I'm busy every day of the week, then it gets to Sunday and I'm kicking around at home, anticipating the week ahead ever-so-slightly fearfully and reflecting on the one that's just gone and all its imperfections...how I just didn't get as much done as I'd have liked. I've found that recently, I never sit still. I can't even sit in front of the telly for half an hour without getting up absentmindedly to straighten the curtains or just wash up that cup quickly, and then I don't sit back down again; I just wander round the room with half my mind on the telly and the other half frantically looking for the next thing I'm going to occupy my mind with so that I Do. Not. Wallow.
I was right about the "work and exercise" cure, though. They really do help. They are what doctors should prescribe when people come to them because life is stressing them out or they're feeling depressed; order them to a gym or lock them in a room with a decade's worth of filing and tell them they're not coming out until it's done.
This week I'm getting ready to re-introduce proper writing into my routine. Because I've left it and I've missed it. I know you should "write through" everything, but I am more critical of myself than anybody else ever could be and - stupidly I suppose - everything has felt so fragile that I just didn't feel as though I could take my own criticism on top of it.
But the work and the exercise will help me to power on through, and the writing will stop me from feeling as though my brain is nothing more than a semi-functioning machine...and it doesn't matter if it's rubbish and nobody reads it. I just need to do it.
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