I think it’s fair to say that I failed to manage my time this week. I’m on a self-imposed writing break for seven days and, on Monday morning, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Having prioritised the second draft of my manuscript over and above everything else for weeks, I was suddenly at a bit of a loose end.
At first I reacted exactly as I would have done after hitting a deadline back in the office. It’s like taking off tight. shoes. Relax. Breathe. Maybe do a bit of online shopping. And then I noticed the morning had flown by. Keen not to give my now-spare time to yet more doomscrolling, I needed something to occupy me other than checking whether the start date for the new series of Derry Girls had been announced. It hasn’t but I’ve watched the trailer at least twice a day.
So, I decided to try to clear the decks a bit. Well, I had a look at “the decks”… it was like staring into some sort of hellscape.
I started digging into my email inbox which was an absolute bin-fire, but worse I realised how many people I’ve left hanging for months. There is now a list on the whiteboard of people who are about to get a surprise email. I did consider inventing a good excuse. Something suitably vague but that hints strongly that I am a spy, perhaps? (Why are you laughing? I could totally be a spy…)
Quiet times at work always make me a bit anxious though. And that’s not some piece of newsroom training (“Don’t relax - the queen could die at any time. Be ready!”), nor is exposure to too many bad movies (“It’s quiet … too quiet…”). No, that anxiety comes from knowing the inevitable pattern that will follow. When things are quiet and calm, at first it’s good, then it gets a bit dull, then I realise there’s nothing for it but to do all the jobs I’ve been putting off. And then I start to remember all the things I’ve been putting off… first one, then a couple more, and then suddenly everywhere I look there’s a job to be done.
And then what? Decision paralysis. Natch. Infinite tasks + infinite (ish) time = total inability to do anything. It’s not procrastination, even though that’s probably how it looks to the casual observer. It’s that the sheer volume of tasks is so sick-makingly terrifying, I just sort of mentally go into hiding, avoiding absolutely everything, even the stuff with non-negotiable deadlines. Having only a week ago reassured myself that it was OK to do whatever I was supposed to be doing, I was now doing nothing of any value at all.
And I’ll tell you something else. Having little to do makes me lazy. When a lone work-related email pinged into my inbox on Wednesday, my immediate reaction was “oh god, what now?!?”
By that evening, I was facing the prospect of Thursday and Friday being a frantic whirlwind of actual proper work with actual proper deadlines and some very real appointments to keep outside of my flat, fully dressed. So obviously I took the only action available to me and rewatched the “Kendall’s party” episode of Succession. What better way to feel better about one’s poor life decisions?
And that, dear reader, is the reason this edition of the newsletter has mostly been written on the bus. Sorry.
So what have I learned? Don’t take my foot off the gas? Don’t look directly into the email inbox? Don’t think about all of the things?
Actually, I think my mistake was not having a clear restart moment or action. When you’ve got a real job, that moment is clear - it’s the sound of the alarm clock on the first day back after a holiday; or just the sight of a senior colleague approaching at speed, shouting something panicky about the queen. Basically, some sort of “get back to work” adrenaline shot.
I’d allowed myself to drift. Drifting can be nice but you need something to tell you when to start swimming again.
Actually, I did go for a swim this week … so, that’s something, right?
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Back and with much delayed thanks to Rachel for my Tunnock’s tea cake.
To be honest, look at how many you got out on time! Your hit rate at a percentage is really high. A-star. Give yourself a break darling xx