Spitting tacks

and other pastimes that are all the rage.

What’s getting my goat?

Photo by JC Gellidon on Unsplash

I’ll tell you what:

• No matter how tired I am or how much sleep I need to catch up, my brain always wants to chat (or sing, the worst) in the middle of the night. And it’s not even about anything interesting, or a good tune.

• It’s damn cold. As I write, I’m wearing fleece-lined leggings, four top layers, many socks, and yet the cold is creeping in around the joints. A brisk walk out in the cold feels better, until the chill works its way to my toes. I have Raynaud's and live in fear of chilblains. I could never live in Canada or Norway. I’ve had to resort to wearing a hot water bottle while at my desk, and in idle moments I’ve been pondering how to make a sort of flat rice cushion pad thing, to microwave and put under my feet.

• I’m exasperated with myself. Instead of starting the soup for lunch today, I decided to measure the inside of the airing cupboard and work out required dimensions for cheap storage/organising options for spare sheets and towels. Not top of the list for today by a long chalk, but something that needs doing before the new bathroom is fitted - exactly a month from today. Perhaps that’s why my mind turned in that direction. Anyhoo, the minestrone wasn’t started, despite prepping the curly kale before I’d even had my breakfast. I peaked too soon.

• I’ve swiftly moved from exasperated to enraged, because having measured my towels, instead of cracking on with the soup, I spent an hour unblocking the bathroom sink. Should I have left it another day, got the soup simmering, and switched on the sewing machine instead? Yes and no. Unfortunately, the sink had taken a turn for the worst, and couldn’t be left any longer. And it’s the work of moments to pour hot water down it. The problems start when you forget the plug-doobry-rod-thing was pulled out to remove the plug itself, and have to spend another ten minutes cursing and getting everything out of the cupboard and drying it all off, then wait for various household chemical inducements to work their magic (opportunity for more footling with tape measures in the airing cupboard) then another twenty minutes trying to get the plug-doobry back in its little hole and fastened without cross-threading.

• Half-way through same, while still rubber-gloved, the doorbell rings with a parcel for someone else. Which reminded me to be angry all over again about missing the postman this morning, resulting in a “sorry we missed you” card despite there being two adults in the house available and willing to answer the doorbell - if you actually care to ring it instead of lightly knocking on the door and running away.

• Did I mention how cold it is? And it’s still dark early-ish. Which means a much-needed walk to catch the light is always at the wrong point, just when I’m starting to achieve something. And by the time I get back, not only do I have cold toes again, it’s now time to prep more vegetables.

• I’m positively seething about the time it takes to wash and chop and cook vegetables every evening, yet prepare them I must. I refuse to compromise on what I eat, so chop I must. They’re the ultimate Sisyphean kitchen chore.

• Despite my best-laid-plans for this week (Monday was apparently going to be a “solid day of stitch” - how we laugh now) I STILL have a Ramster piece unfinished on my desk. Here’s a portion of where I’m up to:

• Even when I’ve made it to the studio, it’s been a real battle to do some solid stitch time due to the cumulation of all the above. The cold, the tiredness, the household things in the background - then add in my inherent inability to focus and do what’s important without getting distracted. And I think it’s THAT that gets me fuming. It’s been over a year since I was referred by an occupational psychologist for ADHD coaching, and I’m still waiting on the NHS and trying to muddle along by myself. Some days I can do it, other days…nope.

• Basically, I’m absolutely livid with myself and as you can imagine, that’s really helping me turn things around.

Luckily, it can be good to get angry

Here’s some reasons why.

In fact, I’m slightly suspicious of anyone who doesn’t get angry. Are they even human?

Looked at objectively, anger is a useful indicator: a boundary has been crossed, personal or otherwise. There’s the anger about terrible events and injustices in the outside world (Trump, Gaza, the environment) and then the boiling pot of rage within.

It’s also a control thing.

In getting angry with the sink, the weather, the vegetables, I’m redirecting my anger from myself, and towards stuff that can’t fight back. Go me.

The crossed boundary? The poorly-defended boundary that should protect my creative time from random events like dealing with a blocked sink. Being reminded of my failure to guard it makes me angry, because I’ve let myself down. I notionally have control of my time, but I chose to give that time to a bathroom basin over time for myself. And that makes me feel stupid and guilty and ridiculous, which makes me angry all over again.

I can’t control politics or the weather, but to function on any meaningful level and achieve more than a minimum of the mundane tasks of life, I do need to be able to control myself and make conscious decisions about where I spend my time.

And those decisions make me angry, because I only spot them after the fact. It wasn’t a conscious decision to give away my creative power and energy this morning – but that’s what happened.

There’s the obvious reason, that I have a genuine disability when it comes to directing my attention. And of course, my studio is in my home. If I could afford it (I can’t) and if something suitable existed near me (it doesn’t, I’ve looked) I’d definitely rent a studio.

But there’s also the fact that I haven’t actually defined my boundaries or created rules about where I spend my time. You may be able to live without rules, and still get stuff done. I can’t. And unfortunately, I’m also a rebel, and kick against rules - even if they’re my own. More about our creative rules next time (the post I was going to write before I got so het up).

Meantime, what to do with this pent up rage?

Let it all out

My mother-in-law famously used to stab pillows and throw things. She’s calmed down now (mostly) but she was definitely on to something, as strong feelings need a strong physical release. Could be crying and screaming, but doing anything with force will do the job:

• Vigorous scribbling with crayons or marker pens.

This morning’s ‘morning pages’ collage, from before it all kicked off - scribbled over with black marker after it did. Verrrry therapeutic.

• Writing it all out then vigorously ripping up the paper, or setting fire to it.

• Some sort of hard, fast physical movement such as running, cycling or jumping,

• Throwing and/or hitting something - preferably a ball or cushion, even thin air.

And to that end, I must dash: I’ve been bumped from the waiting list into tonight’s Combat class. Never done it before, probably going to be loud and shouty and sweaty, but perhaps the perfect release for all the rage. Suits me.

What gets your goat and how do you get your wriggles out?!

PS I forgot one: I’m always more than a little vexed to find price labels stuck onto books - not only the cover, but the front cover! Particularly hard-to-remove stickers. WHY?!