Priorities, Pollution and Parentheses

In my previous post, I compared how I currently feel to an attempt to juggle with too many balls, each ball representing a different aspect of my attempt at living.  I saw my GP earlier this week, and described this analogy to him.  His response was that I should take each ball in turn, look at where it features on my list of priorities and decide what to do with it; whether I need it (moving forward), or how to re-launch it/keep it aloft.

It’s tricky to know where to start here.  My main responsibility in life, other than my own health and wellbeing (which isn’t one I tend to take very seriously) is Henry.  To that end, things like feeding/walking Henry must take priority over things like keeping my (relatively limited) living space clean and tidy.  And they do; my bedroom is chaos.  I’ve neglected basic tasks such as vacuuming, dusting and changing my bed sheets.  There is rubbish to be taken out.  I have piles of unopened mail (including some from the DWP).  Anyway, I think you get the gist; I’m disgusting.

Oddly, something I find easier to tackle than my own self-care/personal hygiene is my OU work.  I find this a good way to escape, to get lost in something ‘different’ for an hour or two at a time.  But ask me where it’s going, what my long plan is in terms of studying, or a future ‘career’…?  I’d have to say I have no fucking idea.  I’d tell you that I’m a perfectionist when it comes to coursework, that I’ll settle for nothing less than around 85% in any assignment or exam.  I’d admit that I put myself under huge amounts of pressure.  But I have absolutely no desire to take what I learn and make a living from it.  Not because I’m lazy, I should add, but because social anxiety/panic dictates that I’d rather scoop out my own eyeballs with a teaspoon than have to go back to work.  So why bother?

Moreover, in the last six months or so, I’ve managed to glean some enjoyment from running, something I always enjoyed ‘before’ but which I was unable to do based on my low weight/erratic eating patterns (my weight has improved, depending how you look at it/who you ask, but my eating habits remain a work in progress (although the ‘work’ needs some work)) .  I’ve even been taking Henry to Cani-Cross classes (Google ‘Cani-Fit’, if you want to know more).  But every time I think I’m getting somewhere, I get a cold/virus, fall (yes, this actually happened, and I ended up face down in the mud…at least it was dark!), or otherwise injure myself, and end up missing out.  In some ways, I think I probably tackle exercise in the same manner in which I study and end up periodically running myself (excuse the unintended pun) into the ground.

So what’s the moral of this tale?  That some of my priorities are wrong?  That my life is a bigger disaster than even I realised until I saw this written down?  That I’m floundering, like a fish out of water, lurching around like ‘it’ in a game of Blind Man’s Buff?  That I’ve become a serial user of parentheses?  Your guess is as good as mine.



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