How to ruin your own weekend

This weekend, I had the house to myself while “him indoors” was away with the Reserves doing Army things with Army types in Cardiff (talking about how great the Queen is and doing that belly crawl thing up the beer aisle in Tesco? I’m not sure).

As a bit of an introvert (while sober, at least), I always love the idea of time to myself – taking the weekend at my own pace, not feeling obliged to go anywhere or do anything, and a chance to be alone with my thoughts.

It’s that last bit that invariably kicks my plans in the knackers.

I’m the sort of person who, when given time to herself, writes a to-do list on how I’m going to relax, because that’s how super chill people like me operate. But then I worry about relaxing too much, because that’s a waste of the precious, borrowed time I get on this planet and I should be doing something with it before I stumble off the edge of this mortal coil, shouldn’t I?

But, then, I think, you’ve got to relax, haven’t you? Because stress is terrible for you and can actually kill you dead, if that Google hole I went down that one time was anything to go by, and I don’t want to be killed dead from stress.

So, to have a good weekend, I have to be productive, but not too productive, and relaxed, but not too relaxed. Easy, right? Only thing required would be to tweak that to-do list a little, yeah?

Anyway, so here’s how that kind of thinking managed to turn my plans for a couple of days  to myself into a helter-skelter of existential panic. Enjoy:

Friday evening

  • Drove home from work like Satan was chasing me in a monster truck to see Andy before he left, because am good girlfriend and good girlfriends let their boyfriends make them dinner before they disappear on two gruelling days of tabbing and saving the queen.
  • The second Andy left the house, donned marigolds to do the dishes (my skin hates doing the dishes even more than I do) and angry-cleaned the house to allow for a blissful Saturday and Sunday of relaxation and gentle productivity (i.e yoga, walking the dog etc. etc.).
  • After house is clean, pets march in and out of the garden in planned-looking, two animal parade, happily trailing mud behind them as they do so. Been up since half five, so by this point all fucks have left me and I assume this means the parading means I no longer need to walk the dog, so I give up and binge watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which I’m extremely late to the party in discovering.
  • Midnight. Dog refuses to chill out, despite prior muddy pageantry. He also refuses to let me sleep. I lovingly call him a “fucking fuck” and let him drag me round the block, where all the pub people are starting to zombie their way home to bed. Am jealous of the pub people.

Saturday

  • Alarm. Time to go to yoga, except don’t want to go to yoga. Spend half an hour in bed stressing about whether it’s more stressful to go to yoga when don’t want to, or to not to yoga. Decide to skip yoga because now have headache, but opt compromise and listen to Headspace app and do a meditate, to check in with how I’m feeling. Surprise answer: am feeling stressed. Such zen.
  • Lunch with mum. Mercifully can’t overthink this one. Matriarchal company plus cake generally a plus.
  • Shopping. Need dress for work’s Christmas do, and retail therapy etc., so will be fun.
  • Is not fun. Is two hours of glaring at misshapen body in weird lighting only ever seen in dressing rooms. How do shops think horrible glare that makes people look like badly made clay figurines with fingerprints still on them will make them want to buy more clothes?! Spend majority of time in shops oscillating between thinking “waah, am gross bag of lumps!” and “Fuck society for making me feel like this and fuck shops for having multiple clothing items that are supposedly the same size, but some of them wouldn’t even fit over my big toe and others make me look like I’m wearing a pop-up tent.” Eventually landed on “This one’s shiny and fits over my head. Will purchase this one so can go home.”
  • Went home, binge watched entire last series of New Girl, wept at the finale because Zooey Deschanel is excellent and deserves my tears for her efforts. Wanted a snack, but decided couldn’t eat “rubbish” on account of lumpy sack body. Got angry with diet culture again for making me feel like bag of loose spuds and proceeded to pissily eat a whole bag of oranges because…I don’t even know, but they were nice and mad me feel better.

Sunday morning

  • Alarm. Andy due back in a few hours, so decided best thing to do would be to get that blog post and workout I’d been meaning to do all weekend done.
  • Opted to pack that idea in and downloaded I Feel Pretty instead because, despite all reviews I’ve read about it being problematic and no one agreeing to come and see it with me while it was at the cinema because “it looks a bit shit”, I still wanted to see it. I cry at the end. More due to previous evening’s changing room related PTSD than film’s rousing, albeit slightly naff climax. 
  • Andy home. Felt annoyed he’s back before I’ve started to feel suitably relaxed and “weekend-y”, and that if he’d been gone a few more hours, I’d have cracked relaxation.
  • We ate McDonalds. All is now right with the world. The weekend wasn’t so bad. It’s nice to have time to yourself, isn’t it?

Becky’s final thoughts

  1. You can’t think yourself into relaxing. That way madness lies.
  2. Despite this weekend being my most slothful one in a while, I feel the opposite of chill, so I’m thinking that knackering myself out at the gym as is the norm on weekend mornings is probably the way forward. It’s hard to overthink when your brain cells are sleepy and fugged up with endorphins.
  3. Oranges are great. I want an orange.

Hope you all had a lovely weekend! I’m off to go relax now (help me!).

Knowlege Gobbler: How a Personality Quiz Brought Me Back to Blogging

How do? Welcome to Spilled Think – the blog that this thirty-something, easily distracted human of the ovary-wielding variety intends to violently splatter her thoughts at. Not unlike a toddler flinging spaghetti at a wall. Or the worse metaphor about a curry and a toilet bowl I was about to use. But I’m not going to.

Sorry. I already sort-of have now, haven’t I? I hope you weren’t eating.

Until recently, I could be found at rebeccawritesandran.blogspot.com,* which initially started as a “look at me, I’m a runner now!” bragging platform, documenting of my training for my first (and last, probably) ever marathon. I had a blog. I had a niche. I was good to go. And then my hypermobile, barely-attached feet went on strike. After a couple of years of blogging under a somewhat misleading website name, I slowly felt increasingly disconnected from it, which is a shame because I love stringing words together and casting them into the many-eyed void that is the internet.

Cue four months of watching TV and uncomfortably fidgeting because “Unnnngh! I want to write something, but not on that blog. Anyway, I don’t have time. I’m so busy and important. Ooh, there’s a new Louis Theroux show out…Where have all my crisps gone?”

What pulled me out of my four-month writer’s paralysis was a quiz I stumbled across on one of the many MANY podcasts I listen to on my daily two-hour commute, called The Good Life Project. Long story short, the presenter, Jonathan Fields has spent a crazy amount of time researching what drives people in life, and he found that as a species, despite the fact that we’re all super-special individual snowflakes, our “reasons for being” can generally be narrowed down into ten categories they called Sparketypes:

sparketypes

I ‘borrowed’ this image from the Sparketype Mastery Guide I bought from The Good Life Project…nice people of  The Good Life Project, please don’t sue me, for I am poor!

Because I’m a sucker for anything that whiffs even vaguely of psychology, I was naturally drawn in. I’m one of those people who constantly agonizes about what I need to be doing with my life to be living it “properly”. Sadly, I don’t think worrying and eating cheesy snacks count as a reason d’Γͺtre – if it was, I could proudly claim to be a fully self-actualised human.

At the end of the podcast episode, which was called What Should I Do With My Life? First, Do This, Fields directs the listener to a quiz that helps you work out what your main Sparketype is and which one comes as a close second. I jumped on that mofo immediately.

I filled the quiz in, thinking “la la la, I’m so creative and wordsy, I’m bound to be a maker, because I’m sooo artsy-fartsy!”

…I got Maven – driven to learn (with maker a close second, so while I might not be fully artsy-fartsy, at least I’m a bit artsy-slightly-windy). Which was a bit of a surprise. Until I realised it shouldn’t have shocked me at all. Mavens enjoy learning for its own sake, and whether they have any use for that knowledge whatsoever doesn’t matter that much.

Here’s why that answer was spot on:

  • I grew up asking so many questions, that I was once told by my mum to “Stop asking so many bloody questions, I’m trying to pee!” I had a genuine anxiety that I’d get to adulthood without knowing enough. I’m still convinced I don’t know enough.
  • I’ve always said that if I won the lottery, I’d become one of those token oldies you see hovering around university course after university course like a ghost whose unfinished business was that it never learned enough about human behaviour or obscure Welsh literary history while it was alive.
  • I devour books, audiobooks, documentaries and podcasts like my brain is a leaky bucket that needs continual topping up.
  • I am a font of useless knowledge. I couldn’t tell you how to change a bike tyre or how to do long division, but if you need to know the name and background of any member of a pop-punk band from the early noughties, or why holding a pencil between your teeth is proven to put you in a better mood, I’m your guy!

The main purpose of the quiz is to help you determine how to best spend your time, whether that’s at work or otherwise. I’m fortunate that in my job, even though it’s stressful and a bit bloody far away, I’m constantly learning new shit and having to write about said new shit on the daily (I work in internal comms for a company with many, many different departments), so if I’m a knowledge gobbler with a penchant for making stuff out of said knowledge, then that’s not a bad place for me to be.

So that left my free time to think about. My lovely, digestible podcasts, books etc. etc. fill me up, but I still feel like something’s missing. I want to be able to make something out of that information, whether it’s actually useful or not. Hmm…what could I possibly do that’ll allow me to create something from what I learn? Some kind of platform for expression perhaps, where I don’t have to commit to documenting just one area of experience/learning? Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. What a conundrum.

Div.

So, yeah, here’s my new blog! Every article I’ve read about blogging (because, duh, of course I had to read up on it before diving back in) encourages you to pick a niche and become an expert in it, but I tried that and my foot threatened to leave the leg it was attached to as a result. For the good of my sanity and body parts, I’m opting for the no-niche option. I shall be a niche-less wonder. Every day’s a new learning experience and I shan’t be caged, godammit!

Anyway, you’ve been patient in indulging me. Here is a link to the quiz, which has been spookily accurate for the people I’ve gently encouraged (harassed) to take it. And here is a link to The Good Life Project’s website, which is full of useful resources for making this our little flashes in this pan of existence a bit more fun. Enjoy!

If I’ve successfully figured out how to enable comments (fingers crossed!), let me know your results and whether they rang true for you too.

Until next time =)

 

*If you’ve come with me all the way from my Blogspot page – Hi, I love you. *Small, bashful wave.*