Commitment Issues And What I Really Want.

I have got major end-of-summer-holiday anxiety. Having not written all summer (despite it being extremely productive on a personal level, what with doing a massive clear-out at home), I am now terrified of the return to my desk. No amount of time off, head clearing, finding yourself, or parenting gets books written. Taking a break is ultimately beneficial, but the same number of words now need to be written in an even shorter time. I know I can do it and I will. The mental space I have after the home cleanse feels like a drug. I’m high from it. I didn’t have a spare inch to think before, and therefore writing will be swifter and calmer now. But still, so many words. How would you all feel about my next offering being a short poem?

Just kidding. I am SO pumped to write you another big juicy novel. I love this story, and know you’re going to love it too. Tappety tap, and away I go!

I got childcare tonight, just to come to my office to open Word docs, play around, and get my head back into work mode. I cooked two mackerel fillets in my air fryer, covered them in Samphire, and burnt the Samphire to a crisp. It’s weirdly quite nice, but I won't try to achieve it again, as not burnt Samphire is definitely better. It’s brain food though, and I am all about feeding my brain.

I am longing for the routine of school. The summer holidays are long and exhausting, but we have a duty to abandon ourselves a little bit, I think. Our job is to make sure the kids’ summers are fun, so that one day they look back on their summers and recall sea swims and late bedtimes. Way too much sugar, and weekends with their cousins. When mum was relaxed and not always working, and mornings weren’t chaotic with inevitable screaming and math didn't exist, and neither did vegetables.

A little like Christmas, behind every joyful moment is an absolutely exhausted parent. At least with the summer holidays, that fucking Santa dude doesn’t swan in and take ALL the credit.