Tired

I exhausted myself; it’s why I’ve been quiet.

Here in the UK, we have a turn of phrase for being busy; we call it spinning plates. It harks back to the circus act of erecting a number of head height poles into the ground, then balancing spinning plates on them.

The trick of it was to wobble the stick in a circular motion, causing said balanced plate to spin and remain in situ unaided. The skill arrived in getting all your plates spinning, by running to each stick in succession as they slowed, friction getting the better of them, and impart more energy to keep them going.

To be successful, the artist needed to be a blur of movement between each.

The act never lasted long.

Back to reality

My plates were projects, desires, goals and work. It was fun for a while, imagining the utopia of each whilst imparting that energy, but it was extremely tiring. Something had to give and BSD was the [temporary] casualty.

I even considered ending this alter ego but in the nick of time, I realised that it was a pity party move.

Push

The way I write isn’t particularly stressful. I interact with the cubs, they do what they do and I script my reactions. It basically writes itself.

They are the fuel for my eternal smile and our antics, whilst we navigate single parenthood, seem to make folk smile too.

But, dashing between projects, doing more and more, I eventually found that I was letting more plates slow down as my energy waned. It really was exhausting. My plates were in danger of dropping.

The reality was that I needed to do less of what I didn’t like, and more of what I did like.

It took a while to realise that.

Let’s see what happens next.

BSD