So this is the part where I become a whirlwind of activity and we see screen shots of me running through the park, typing furiously on the laptop, lifting weights and sifting through job applications. Cut to six months later, and the fitter, beautifully dressed moi is accepting the Orange Prize for Fiction and saying “I’d like to thank…”.
After last weeks news, we actually had quite a pleasant weekend. Some friends came round for a barbecue on Saturday which culminated in a walk up Kinnoull Hill at three o’clock in the morning to watch the sun come up. A bottle of fizz and some life-affirming conversation had me cresting on a wave of hope and optimism. Le homme and I had some in vino veritas discussion of the situation and I resolved my fears that he thinks I’ve ruined our lives.
Sunday’s hangover made things much more difficult to deal with, which helpfully brought home how my mental state can be so significantly influenced by my physical state. I joke about montage scenes of me running in the park, but staying physically healthy is one thing that can really keep my head straight. Which means sleeping well and eating right, along with getting some exercise. The week kicked off pretty well and I spent Monday at the library enthusiastically job searching and imagining all the possibilities of my new life. The rest of the week has seen a significant drop in enthusiasm for what seemed to be no discernible reason. Thinking about it, I realise I haven’t given myself much time to really consider what’s happened. I spent nearly twelve weeks waiting for a resolution. When it came, I instantly threw myself into the “montage” and started my “new life”. I felt like I’ve spent a lot of time slacking off and not being “productive” and with the situation resolved I had to get to work to fix it. Maybe I need to process the situation and resolve it within my own head before I can move on.
Or maybe I’m just lazy, and want to cut ahead six months instead of working through the montage.