We are heading down south this time next week and I’m not going to get my book finished before then. Still, I have made quite a bit of progress and restored some of my lost confidence in the end being in sight. The reasons it hasn’t worked…
It hasn’t worked because I have had a cold on and off for the last month, accompanied many days of thick fog where very little could be achieved. It hasn’t worked because my good days aren’t quite as consistently good as I thought they might be. And it hasn’t worked because the less mental energy I have, the greater proportion of that energy I feel compelled to use on communication.
I have been pondering this latter truth, especially during the last few days where I have felt as if several of my wires have been pulled. I miss being able to communicate more than I miss being able to work. Part of this is the fact that when I can do as much as this, as much as I am doing today – these paragraphs it has taken all day so far to write – then to do the same on my book would be a drop in the ocean. And anyway, I might decide to rewrite that completely on a brighter day, whereas I won’t have to revisit this ever again.
Part of it is this particular type of boredom that descends. It isn’t restlessness, because it is very easy to occupy my little brain. Only it is not easy to occupy it in any meaningful way. I might spend my time watching favourite films, but I won’t follow the plot and will struggle to get involved. I listen to comedy programmes on the radio and I don’t get any of the jokes (uh… comedy programmes I might otherwise laugh at, that is). And yet it’s not as if I am in a depression where I have lost interest in anything, so I get very frustrated. I need to engage with other people in some little way.
Which is a great irony. On an exceptionally good day, I might happily lock myself up with my work and not think of other people. On a bad day, when I am least able to communicate and completely unable to hold a meaningful conversation, I want that more than anything.