I thought I was going to journal today, but I forgot to take my journal with me. So you poor readers will have to suffer with the small workings of my mind.
Today is my third day in a row going into the office. Normally I only have to go in 50% of the time, but this week I’m going in four days out of five.
I’m going in to the office because getting up, getting dressed, leaving the house and all the movement and motion required to get from home to the office is helpful. Last week when I spent most of my time working from home, when my longest walks were from desk to bathroom to kitchen, some days I would find myself staring out of the window and crying. I don’t know why. I was not my most productive self.
I can’t say that going into the office makes me 100% better. After all, I still am gripped by moments of anxiety. I write and re-write emails, then save them in draft, telling myself that I will come back to them later and send them, but am always anxious that there is some word or phrase that isn’t quite right, something that will cause the ceiling to fall in.
But being in the office with people around me, and having to at least look productive, look focused and look like I know what I’m doing – all this helps me to be a little bit more all of those things.
At home when it’s just me, I look out the window and see the boy in the house behind leaning over the fence into his neighbour’s yard with a stick. I hear the bell in the collar of the neighbour’s cat. I think, that boy is trying to beat the cat with that stick, when logic tells me he is actually trying to fetch back the ball I heard him playing with a few minutes earlier.
There are no boys, cats, balls or bells in the office.
Tales from Tobhamhor 