#unproductive

I’m tired of being tired all day.

The thing I hate the most in life is not knowing how long I’ll have to wait for something.  You might think that this ten-word phrase could be replaced simply with “impatient”, but it’s more than that. I’m very patient and I’m very good at waiting- if I know how long it will be.  I guess it’s a specific kind of impatience.  Whatever it is, it grates at me like nothing else.  When I’m waiting indefinitely for something, I can do almost nothing else. I become incredibly unproductive.

Usually, the antidote to this type of waiting (in my life at least) comes in the form of an email – communication from someone else who will know my fate before I do.  While waiting for the email, I keep my blackberry in my peripheral vision so that I can see the blinking red dot informing me that some kind of information is there – and I hope it’s from the person I’ve been waiting to hear from. Generally, this information means much more to me than to that person.  They’re only a middleman between my torpid waiting state and the glorious future I’ve imagined if the news is good.

If the news is not positive- the pain normally packs less of a punch than the agony of waiting.  Seriously, I get so frustrated and altered while waiting that hardly any outcome can be worse. This strange behavior has clearly made me skilled at getting over things, which I guess is the bright side, but in all truthfulness, I need to get better at waiting.

I’m currently in this state of waiting with no clue as to when I’ll find out the result- and it is crippling.  I’m surprised I’m evening writing anything!  90% of the past week or so I’ve just been sleeping or binge watching Breaking Bad – the show about the chemistry teacher turned meth manufacturer. Regardless of how phenomenal of a program it is, the show only further brings me down as just about every character in it has a dozen ugly flaws overshadowing any semblance of a redeeming one.

Because of the time spent waiting- everything else is in disarray- my home is not picked up, there is no food in my fridge, I haven’t worked out or gone to the pool, and I’ve read zero pages.  Surprisingly, I maintain a rather social nature throughout the waiting – I’ve gone out nearly each night with friends, and had great times.  But I slouch at the nearly always instant, “how are things going?”, question- because I don’t know… yet.  I deflect with a “they’re going” and make the conversation about something, anything, else. 

The biggest fear of course being that if I divulge what the waiting is for, I’ll have to deal with others asking “any news yet?” and if it is bad then having to make the rounds of informing everyone and answering to “oh I’m sorry- that sucks – are you okay?”

I’m fully aware of how dramatic this is.  I know that regardless of any result, I will be “okay”.  I have nothing to complain about, and never have in any of these periods of waiting. In fact, another reason why I’m good at getting over things is my propensity to have many backup plans.  So when one thing doesn’t happen, I’m just on to the next one.  One of my life mantras has been – always be planning 10 awesome things, then if only two of them happen, you’ll still be amazing! And this has worked really well for me… but while I’m waiting for one with no deadline, expected announcement date, or other inkling of when I’ll know- pheww! It’s tough!

Well- now that I’ve publically shared how dirty my house is, I feel pressure to clean it up- so will go do that now.  Maybe that’s the solution to my negative reaction to waiting- not saying what I’m waiting for, but being open about how unorganized it makes me!

EXPECTATION:

REALITY:

Unproductive hours are the most soul-shaping parts of our lives.

Autumn Studying Challenge

5th November - Sweater or cardigan?

Sweater, but only bc most of the cardigans I’ve owned over the years haven’t been thick enough, or had pockets (a necessary feature for cardigans)

Today wasn’t a great day, or very productive, but it is what it is. I did have this very good brownie, so there’s that.

So in true ‘me’ style, blogging was a phase (a very short one at that) which passed in the blink of an eye. Not because I didn’t have the material to write about, I mean let’s be honest it’s just my inner ramblings anyway, but allocating a set time to sit and think and write was just nigh on impossible.

So as I lay here tucked up in bed at 0045, cosy but struggling to sleep, I figured this was a good a time as any to rekindle this uncommitted hobby.

Let me tell you about the last time I tried to get a tan. It was just last weekend actually, Friday. I was going out in the evening and could have done with being 1 Pantone shade darker. So, naturally, off I headed to the beach. We all know I hate the beach anyway (well kind of, I’ve just reaffirmed this since I moved to Dubai). It’s not really the beach I hate, it’s the sand. Omg the sand drives me mad! Therefore, by default so does the beach.

So after my housemate had emergency friend issues elsewhere and could no longer join me, and everyone else was busy so last minute, I decided to go alone. Some well needed R&R. I plucked up the courage to strip down to the bikini, baring the excess pounds which just won’t shift and lacquered on the tanning oil (it’s factor 20 don’t worry), opting for a factor 50 for the face. Not sure why as the face is the bit that needed the tan the most but regardless, it was new and I hadn’t used it before. So whilst lying there, attempting to read a book through shit sunglasses and a piercing sun, my eyes slowly started to tingle. I didn’t think much of it, assumed it was the heat and a bit of sweat, rubbed my eyes and carried on reading. After a few moments I went for a chunky dunk (but clothed, obviously, it is Dubai!) and returned to the 'this will be blissful’ state of sweaty books, prickly heat and blowing sand (sidetrack slightly, no joke, they actually use the term 'blowing sand’ on the weather report… What kind of terminology is that?). Anyway, I decided to mould the sand under my towel to make a pillow and then re lathered my SPF as I couldn’t afford to burn. This time my eyes really started to burn and it became incredibly uncomfortable so I decided to rub it off. The stinging subsided but didn’t go away but I assumed it would settle like last time. So I waited, not so patiently.

As my core temperature rocketed to an unbearable heat I decided to take another dip. This time, I waded out to waist height, taking my time and meandering around little bits of seaweed and then BOOM! The sea had been a little rough with gentle waves breaking at the shore all day but suddenly out of nowhere came this tremendous wave which crashed down on top of me. It dived into my sunglasses, flooding my eyes and mixing the sun cream in with my already irritated eyeballs, simultaneously wiping out a poor kid not to far from me. He emerged squealing with joy (note to self: steal goggles off kids next to me next time a wave the size of the Burj approaches and stand there, victoriously waiting!).

Meanwhile, I was blinded. No, I mean literally blinded. I couldn’t open my eyes as it felt like someone had poured hot steaming venom on my face. The more I rubbed the worse it got. The more I didn’t, well, the worse it got. So I stumbled back to my towel, opening my raw eyes for 1 second at a time to check I was headed in the right direction and not at risk of falling into a freshly created abyss in the sand, or toppling over some poor unsuspecting woman trying to sleep.

After what felt like an age I found my towel (now covered in 'blowing sand’) and sat there, discreetly rocking back and forth cradling my face. After 5 minutes I threw in the towel, literally, packing up my shit with my eyes closed and determinedly stumbled my way back across the beach weaving in and out of bodies to hail a taxi and go home. Of course, this would be the one time I got a driver who truly wanted to save me time and money by suggesting I cross the road and get a taxi that didn’t have to wait in traffic.

So I very politely (well almost in the circs) retorted that I was blind and he should shut up and drive, simultaneously picturing the scene that would ultimately lead to my death if I were to venture forth, arms outstretched to feel for oncoming traffic.

Anyway, I arrived home to a further 3 hours of rinsing my face continuously and lying there in bed on one of my few bearable days of heat left, willing my eyes to stop aching so I could enjoy the pleasure of mere sight again!

Fail.

All in all, it was a positively unproductive day. I set out to gain a tan and instead returned having temporarily lost eyesight through inability to open my eyelids. Rest assured, I won’t be using that face cream again!

Lesson learnt. Fake bake is, only sometimes, the right choice to make.