Joggerella?

a back blip written on Thursday

I took this photo on the beach yesterday. The wind was icy and I wasn't wearing enough. But it was a beautifully bright and empty beach. The shoe looked like it had been discarded mid-jog - and not washed up on the tide.

In the morning Richard went to see the accountant to talk about last year's books. I do all the bookwork and VAT and know the answers to all the questions so I should talk to him really but it's easier if we just let Richard go and I stay home and deal with a grocery delivery and clean out the fridge and run up and down stairs and listen to Radio 4 and worry about being a worrier and not worry about how my anxiety will behave - or not - and it's not behaving this week.

I'm in a pre-Christmas sorting phase and not enjoying the way that makes me feel about myself or my life.
I resisted the urge to yell, "I'm just a f**king skivvy!" because that's what my mum used to do, but I think the sentiment is pretty much exactly the same. There's a sense that I don't deserve anything better than dealing with all the household crap and the kids really don't do enough and they don't seem to see why they should do anything. Housework is notoriously repetitive and thankless and I rarely get any sort of sense of achievement out of it. Dashing about getting flustered on behalf of other people should come with some sort of reward, surely?

I'm also feeling materialistic/monetary guilt about how much I've already bought for the family for Christmas. When there's so much wrong with the country and the planet and people with so little it feels silly, extravagant, a bit like guilding a wilting lily, and... well... rather obscene.
I've tried to spend less than last year and make everything something that is needed or useful but I still find modern western Christmas pretty wasteful - and not just in monetary terms. It sucks up too much time and energy and expectation.
Miserable, huh?

So that's why I didn't write my blip last night