Giving up

Today has been a little frustrating, to the point that I'm not even sure what to write or how to write it. I woke up early after some weird dreams - dreams about not doing my job well, about everything being covered in darkness, about being quarantined because of an epidemic, about running late, about people being annoyed at me, about doing my best and it not being good enough, about our flat being messy and dirty! I woke up with a heavy mind and I haven't really been able to shake it yet.

It's days like this that make me think about giving up. I try to write and all I hear is a voice telling me that I'll never have an audience, that it's far too hard to get published. I try to sew and after two hours I still can't work out what's wrong with the stupid sewing machine! I try to slow down and relax but all I can do is keep thinking about the other things I could and should be doing.

Questions overwhelm me, from the tame "should I just go back to bed?" to the slightly worrying "should I bother with taking Wednesdays off, should I even be a physio, should I cut my losses and go back home?"

I'm not telling you this to seek sympathy or praise, I'm just telling you because I think it's all part of the journey. Well, I hope it is anyway. I always knew that everything wasn't going to be perfect, that every Wednesday wasn't going to be world-changing, but feeling the reality of that is harder than thinking it may happen.

So what now? I guess I have two choices - give up, sit in a corner and mope or stand up, take a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other. I know which one is easier. And I know which one will get me where I want to be.

So here I go...