It’s been a week of job hunting for Zac and for me, trying to work out the most effective way to twiddle my thumbs.
I’m not great at not doing anything.
I’ve always had a job, always had work, seemingly I’m one of those ‘busy’ people.
And while I’ll jest about being too busy, I’m certainly more productive when I’m working, and I definitely appreciate my free time more when I’m employed.
Besides which, turns out you need money to pay for brunch, and I live for brunch.
There’s been plenty of people to keep me entertained.
Twiddling my thumbs hasn’t been too unbearable this week. Summer is starting to make an appearance here in Melbourne and there’ve been some glorious days spent lounging in the hammock, reading with Smudge.
This week ended with Edolie’s 10th birthday party.
It was nice to go round to the Rogers’ house.
It’s a home that feels incredibly familiar, no matter how long it’s been since I was last there.
Busy with the party, I didn’t get that much time to catch up with Meg, but I did eat waaaay to much of her baking and left with a handful of cookies and a promise to pop round properly when she’s less preoccupied.
Whenever that may be: Meg is my idol in terms of nailing the ‘busy person’ role.
I’ve been trying to get in to some kind of routine, something to keep me on track, and something to maintain a sense of normality.
We came back early because we were craving that routine.
I’ve been fumbling my way in to a sort of one day on, one day off approach to training and certainly when I’m squatting a PB and my abs are on fire, I do feel a sense of accomplishment I can’t get from finishing my third book this week.
Plans for New Zealand are coming along and hopefully next week they’ll flesh out even more and become concrete – to a certain extent.
But I did slip back into old darkness when I didn’t get out of bed until 11:30am and then spent the rest of the day scrolling listlessly through the same three apps.
I think for the most part, I distract my depression with activity, I keep myself busy and give myself a purpose and that’s usually enough to keep me on an even keel.
But being stubborn, and being independent I feel lost and useless that I can’t take up any of the 4 job offers I have here, I can’t start earning money and supporting us.
Anxiety takes a spike and I convince myself leaving the room is bad, that somehow if I’m just in the bedroom, I’m contained and therefore not in the way, not useless.
Time to push on.