Since stay-at-home orders were issued in my state, I have been both more and less productive in every aspect of life. I thought I’d take this opportunity to update you all on what I’m doing and planning for my writing life and career at this point.
Behold the beauty of my personally designed planner. After scouring the internet and bookstores for the perfect planner for–let’s face it–years, I finally decided to create my own. (Side note: I did try bullet journaling for a while, but I hated that I had to create new spreads every day/week/month by hand.)
I originally was going to have it printed at Kinko’s and put it in a binder, but that was going to cost in the hundreds of dollars (?!). I decided to check out a self-publishing website I encountered before (BookBaby), and to my pleasant surprise, my new planner (bound with a hard cover!) was going to cost less than $50, including shipping.
I just ordered 300 pens with my name and website on them. Perhaps I should post on this website more often. The pens are bound to get out. I do work in a restaurant, after all. Pens disappear all the time. We know not where they go, only that we enter the restaurant with five in our pocket and leave with two or three. I will use one pen obsessively in hopes of losing it so all my pens will be the same, only to lose the others and keep that pen until I intentionally “lose” it. I will buy pens that are different than the hosts’ pens, only to see the same kind of pens I bought show up in the hosts’ pen jar a week later. Well, not this time. And if it does happen, I won’t care because I’ll have 300 PENS WITH MY NAME AND WEBSITE ON THEM. I can take them back whenever I want because I know they’re mine. Or I can leave them there and hope the hosts lose them. Lost pens usually find their way to the right place at the right time, right? Perhaps. At least, I hope my $126.65 will encourage my pens to be lost in all the right ways.
As you may or may not know, I work at a charming little diner in Winters, California called the Putah Creek Cafe. Most of my time there is spent serving, but about once a week I come in a couple hours early to make sangria. I’m known as the Sangria Girl. This makes me happy in the silliest way.
Well, today I’m a little late getting on the floor to serve because I made four extra cambros of white peach sangria. One cambro holds four and a half gallons of sangria. That’s eighteen gallons total. I used six cases of wine, twenty apples, four pineapples, a dozen mangos, two and a half pounds of grapes, and roughly a ton of preach purée. That’s a lot of sangria.
Why? Tomorrow is the second annual Albariño Wine Stroll here in Winters, and we’ll be serving up a special sangria made with Raimat Albariño. I’ll be working after 5:30 that night, and I’m excited to see our bartender serve up this special sangria and tell people that I made it. 😉
Come in and see me! I’ll actually be here all day because I’m working a double, so if you can’t make it to the wine stroll, come see me anyway!
Does anyone else feel super productive on their days off? I mean, all week I feel tired and drained, which I suppose is understandable since I work on my feet all day, and I don’t have the energy to do a single dish, let alone all the other things that need to be done. But the minute a day off rolls around, I have energy, motivation, and tenacity. Here are some of the things I did today:
Today is Monday, and every naturally procrastinating University of Phoenix student knows what that means … It’s time to do a week’s worth of schoolwork in one day. Theoretically, we’re supposed to spend twenty hours a week on our schoolwork, something I’ve never managed to work into my schedule no matter how hard I tried (also, it takes me a lot less than twenty hours to complete all my required assignments, including participation posts). So today, I’m utilizing the Pomodoro Technique to crank out a worksheet, a time line, and a few participation posts after having not read the 126 pages of assigned textbook all week. (#confessionsofashittystudent?)
However, between schooling pomodoros, I have been doing laundry. Lots and lots of laundry. Once upon a time, this laundry was clean. It sat in a laundry basket in an inaccessible place for so long, it developed a musty smell. I’ve been meaning to wash and sort through it for weeks (okay, months) now, and I decided today, a day when a billion assignments (and my own personal goal of writing a blog post) are due, was the best day to do it.
Before any of that, though, I also did my Miracle Morning routine (which took about two hours), went for a walk with my boyfriend, poked around at Goodwill for a while, went to Grocery Outlet, and cleaned off my desk and the surrounding area in order to use my desk to do schoolwork.
Wasn’t it just last Thursday I was calling in sick because I felt like absolute shit? Where did all this motivation and energy come from? There must be something about having nowhere to be that automatically makes me want to do things … or something. 🤔
You know how epileptic people have tremors before they have a seizure? After it’s happened a few times, these people learn to recognize the feeling and can warn the people around them they are about to have a seizure. (How do I know this? A pregnant coworker told me one day she was having tremors, and because I was the shift leader on at the time, I got to call 911 when she had the seizure. As terrifying as it was for me, I can only imagine what she went through.) At any rate, I’ve found I have similar warning signs when I’m about to have a breakdown and/or panic attack.
I can’t exactly explain to you what these symptoms are. I just know that yesterday morning, I knew that if I tried to deal with anything that day I was not going to be able to handle it. It’s not the vague threat you tell your kids or your significant other when they’re pushing your buttons. It’s not the feeling of overwhelm you get when your boss dumps another project on your already overloaded plate. It’s a deep sense of knowing that says, “I’ve been here before. If I don’t change directions right now, I’m going to wind up in a very bad place.”
So yesterday, I called in to work. Did I feel guilty about it? Hell, yes. I didn’t give a lot of notice, so there probably wasn’t enough time to find a replacement. That means someone else had to stay late to close, despite being scheduled earlier. I felt bad about that.
I don’t know what the trade off would have been, though. If I had gone into work, the first table to give me trouble could very well have triggered a panic attack. No one wants to see that (believe me). Was it worth the risk? Not to me.
I stayed home. I got some more sleep. My boyfriend made me pizza. I watched Netflix, poked around on the internet, and played video games. I mostly stayed in bed, which is in a protected little alcove in our room that makes it feel like a cave. I felt safe and cool (it is summer), and I had the time and space to heal from whatever had gotten me to that point.
I didn’t realize until this morning that not everyone has to deal with this. Some people never call in sick to work. Some people very rarely get to such a raw emotional state that they have to seclude themselves from the rest of the world. Some people find two days a week off from work to be more than enough time to recharge and recover from the week. I can’t even imagine what that would be like.
Just when I feel like a normal person, I come to realizations like that. I recently bought health insurance for the first time and found I can’t get the cheapest plan because of the amount of medications I take and follow ups I need. Does that make me weird? Because I take two medications every day and need to see a doctor every few months just for my mental illness?
And then I see the phrase “mental illness,” and it’s just sitting there staring at me like, “Um … yes. You are weird. You have a mental illness.”
That doesn’t matter, though. It doesn’t mean there’s something inherently wrong with me. It doesn’t mean I have to explain myself to anyone. What matters is that after thirteen years of dealing with depression and anxiety, I know myself pretty well, and if I say I need a break or I’m going to lose it, I need a fucking break right now. It’s okay to take care of my weird self. It’s okay that I take more sick days than most (sorry, employers/health insurance). Dealing with these issues helps me work my ass off on the days I do go to work. I refuse to feel guilty for that.