Maybe you used to be like Annabel and run your diary like a bath – playing expert scheduling diary games like a professional. Maybe you were a safe, solid pair of diary hands like Emilie – meticulously writing it in pencil and never forgetting to send a birthday card… Then, one day the diaries went blank. For a year. And that muscle you had; that skill honed over years of Midult management. Withered. And now you (supposedly) have to arrange to do things again and your diary reflexes are shot. It’s an absolute shit show.
You are terrified about putting anything in your diary whilst also feeling miserable about your empty diary
As the remarkable cosmic Estelle Bingham said on our podcast (I’m Absolutely Fine!) this week, two truths are always possible. It is possible to both want a full diary, to show a life fully-lived – and also to be desperate not to do a single thing that involves leaving the house/bedroom/bath. How to reconcile this? Maybe do some more thinking more in the bath.
You nearly had a meltdown trying to book the Yayoi Kusama exhibition at The Tate
It felt like a life-affirming thing to do: spend Thursday in a virtual queue for tickets to see Kusama’s Infinity Mirrored Rooms and touch the universe. When you were finally able to book, the uncertainty of what you might be doing at 10am on Thursday 16th September, and who might be able to go with you, and the ‘What Ifs’ froze you and you end up crying on the stairs. Planning used to be your superpower. Didn’t it? *questions everything* *hasn’t got tickets*
You don’t have a lunch free between now and June 18th – whilst simultaneously not having any actual lunches in
How is this possible? It’s like a lunch Bermuda triangle with time being whirlpooled by Zoom meetings, cat chemo, Hermes deliveries, work pressure, walking schedules – how did you ever lunch before? Then you remember what a sweaty mess you were… But you’re still a sweaty mess. WHY? *triggered*
You panic every time the phone rings
Back in the olden times, every time the phone rung you thought someone had died. Now every call is a threat to your diary. Every ping, whoosh, ring might be someone wanting to put something in. You feel attacked. How dare they like you and want to see you?
Everything is too cold, too hot, too light, too long, too early, too late
You are basically Goldilocks and hopefully soon the bears will eat you and put you out of your misery.
You are unable to prioritise who to see
Every time you think ‘Oh, I’d like to see so-and-so’, your anxiety raises its head and lists why they won’t want to see you, why you need to see someone else more urgently (and you can only go out two nights a week and no lunches), why it’s not a good idea… and so even though you were halfway through writing a perky ‘Hey, it’s been a while! Do you fancy a…’ you stop and get back in your misery box. Jesus we are depressing today.
You cry because you have something in the diary tonight
Annabel has a theory which served us well for years – never put anything in the diary that you wouldn’t want to do tonight. Like right now. So you might think that party is VERY FAR AWAY and looks like fun next month. But come next month you know you will be weeping as you try and decode the dress code and book a train and why oh why. The thing is, this theory worked well in the time before. But now YOU DON’T WANT TO DO ANYTHING EVER. So how are you going to separate the wheat from the chaff? What even is the chaff?
Everyone is making it impossible
The timings. The conditions. The ‘Can I get back to yous’ because – just like you – no one can commit. The ‘I’ll try my bests’. The ‘Let’s talk at the being of that weeks’. Fuck it. I’m going back to bed. See you in September AHAHAHAHAH
