I like being organised and making lists, but generally they’re more like checklists or ‘to-do’ lists. And for the present or immediate future.
I’ve got a post written (drafted three weeks ago) about the fact I’ve been a misery guts of late. Each time I open it I’ve new fodder to add. New examples of my negative attitude and grizzly manner. New things to whinge about. New frustrations.
The post is now ridiculously long and my original point… which was about the fact I recognise my moodiness and am quick to apologise if I lose my temper (only ever with my mother I must confess) is buried in the sea of negativity.
The stars and planets aligned a few days ago as I was flicking through the current Good Health & Wellbeing magazine at my mother’s and came across the acronym FOBO – the fear of better options. I can’t find any reference to it online but I think (the article said) the phrase was apparently delivered by the same man who gave us FOMO (fear of missing out).
I’m a bit FOMO-ish from time to time (which is why I ditched Instagram), but appreciate the joke you often see on social media suggesting many of we introverts actually delight in JOMO (joy of missing out), needing more down / alone time than many.
I’ve not written many non-bookish posts lately. I suspect it’s because I’ve felt I’ve had nothing to say. Anything I really need to get off my chest I tend to do so on Facebook or Twitter. (And yes, if you follow me there, you’re very welcome!)
There are probably a few things marinating around inside my little mind however and – as I found a draft of an October check-in I’ve done nothing with – I thought I’d partake in a little brain dump here this month.
For reasons unknown I’ve not been in the mood to write any personal posts for a few weeks.
I’ve had a little bit on. My project management contract ramped up for a while there. I started a new part-time gig and then quit (long story). And my mum was in hospital for a couple of weeks so I was visiting daily.
She’s home now and I’m at her place (ie. my childhood home).
I was at a writing workshop a couple of weeks ago and the facilitator shared a quote… I didn’t actually make a note of the reference but think it’s fairly well known.
It was a memoir and personal essay session and the quote went something like… Just because you think you’ve got a story to tell doesn’t mean you have to tell it.
I’ve mulled over this from a ‘writing about crap of interest to no one’ perspective for a long time, but also more broadly as it kinda relates to where I’m at ‘life-wise’. (At least in a professional sense.)
I’d intended to post something today but was at a bit of a loss (and am also sick). I’m getting daily reminders (thanks Facebook memories!!!) that this time last year I was in Italy. Indeed on this very day last year I was perched outside eating gluten-free pasta with a delicious sauce while gazing at the Tuscan hills.
Recently I opened the notebook we received from Vanessa Carnevale at the writing retreat and found some exercises we’d done.
I decided to join Denyse Whelan’s blogging link-up today and the theme is… What is love?
I’m tempted to say… fucked if I know. But I guess that’s not true. I may not have been ‘in’ romantic love (which is kinda depressing given I’m 51 years old!). But I know love when I see it and I’ve certainly felt it (even though I rarely, if ever, say it!).
I wrote a while ago about the TV documentary series 7-up (14-up, 21-up…. etc) and commented that I liked the idea of looking at life in summary format. It makes the negatives less dire, and allows me to focus on the positives. But more recently I’ve been pondering about how differently those years can pan out. They can reflect periods of consolidation or of significant change.