The weather is here, I wish you were nice.

The US election was disappointing to many and there is nothing else I can add to the yelling on social media right now. The only thing I feel is that women will become louder and more determined than ever and this is a good thing.

Right now I’m back to working three jobs and I’m exhausted but I am about to take my first holiday in 8 years. What? I know, I know. A holiday is what you let pass when  you’re dealing with a shit storm of mental, fiscal and life changing events.

I have the September issue of Vogue to read, which I have been saving for my break. I have a pile of books, and some sleep to catch up on and I am hoping to refill the well and the spirit.

Years ago I watched a TV show where a barber in Marrakesh said he never had holidays. He took one or two days off a year for religious purposes but the rest of the time he worked. No work, no pay, no pay, no food. A simple equation.

While I understand we can survive without a holiday, because I have for eight years, what I have come to understand is the power of the dream. The idea of the holiday is as intoxicating as taking the time away.  The past month Dave and I walk around saying the name of the place we’re travelling to, like a prayer, a dream, a mantra to hold on until we’re in the air.

How often do we forget to make goals and plan when we’re in the middle of the shit storm? I think it’s impossible to plan for a holiday when your loved ones are suffering, even dying, when you can’t plan ahead because you don’t know what the next day will bring.

I also wonder if the 8 years without a break were also partly self-administered punishment for failing, for being kicked while down, over and over, for having to make shitty choices, for hating yourself and your life so damn much.

But things get better. They get better when you stop listening to the crap in your head and just push through. And slowly you are reminded you’re okay and you’re doing okay. My recent dip in my head space was only brief, but it made me aware of how I used to feel like that all the time. All the goddamned time.  That is brutal to bear.

The only thing that got me to where I am now is sheer determination and ignoring the shitty committee in my head. It is the only way. Do anything else but don’t listen to what it says. Clean out the cupboards. Colour code your bookshelf. Do menial tasks. Hand-wash all your knitwear. Iron, Clean your car. Weed the garden. Do anything until it passes because it will pass, and then before you know it, or maybe eight years later, you will be on a holiday, and wondering what the hell you were once so stressed about.

Peace out friends.







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