All booked up
And flustered about it
Welcome to The Quiet 20s, a corner of the internet where we love slow living, books, and navigating the whirlwind decade of your 20s. I’d love to have you here!
Thursdays are usually my writing days. But Thursday before last I was meant to go to Book Club, so my writing should’ve been pushed back to the weekend. Book Club didn’t happen because of an unexpected road closure, but thanks to the rush of cooking dinner and leaving on time I was zapped of energy when I stepped through my door approximately 20 minutes after previously walking out of it.
So then came the weekend. Perfect, quiet time for writing.
WRONG.
Social occasions galore and a dog training session that wiped us all out so badly, I was falling asleep by 7pm.
What followed was perhaps the busiest work week I’ve experienced in years. Back to back to back meetings and almost 200 miles in just client visits. It got to 8:30pm on Wednesday night when I suddenly realised I hadn’t written anything for last week.
The thing is, I like being busy. At work I (probably unhealthily) thrive on the stress before a crammed week, wondering how I’ll possibly get it all done and somehow manage for it to work out. I love booking in social plans, like seeing friends on a random Wednesday to put the world to rights or booking a country pub lunch with my mum on a Saturday. It excites me when my calendar starts requiring me to look weeks - or sometimes months - ahead. It makes me feel needed. Liked. Important, even.
