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On Sleep, Theatre And NOT Blogging Every Day in August

A Random Picture of a Tree Because You Can't NOT Have An Image In A Blog Post, Right?

It's early afternoon; my morning has vanished. 

My morning vanished into bed. I dropped Matilda at our neighbour's house at 10am, decided to have a quick lie down before I got on with reading/blogging/shopping online for maternity leggings, and woke up at 1pm. Part of me is panicking about all that missed relaxation time but most of me knows I was needing the sleep.

I'm not sleeping well at night at the moment. It's frustrating - Matilda (finally!) sleeps straight through the majority of the time; newborn night feeds are a few months away; and I'm managing to get comfortable, despite being twenty-five weeks pregnant; and yet, there I am, lying awake all night, unable to switch off until about 5am when Steve's alarm clock goes off and I fall into vivid dreams about people I haven't spoken to in over a decade. This seems hugely unfair.

And yesterday was a great day - really, one of the best we've had in ages - with a third birthday party which stretched from 11am to 4:30pm, with the kids playing happily together and the adults eating cake in a sunny garden, followed by a trip to see the wonderful The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time at the theatre (GO AND SEE IT). 

But yesterday also involved a lot more walking than my body's really up to at the moment and a later evening than I'm currently used to.

So I was tired.

So: sleep.

And now here I sit, tapping away at my keyboard, blogging about it.

The blogging every weekday in August thing fell apart pretty quickly, didn't it? I managed a week. I've made a conscious decision not to continue.

It would have been easy enough to churn out filler blog posts - I'm not short of ideas right now - but... but... filler blog posts aren't much fun to write.

And clearly they're not much fun to read, either. The week I succeeded in blogging every day, my stats plummeted and my engagement was pitiful. You lot are clearly not into daily blog posts with structure and whatnot. Fair enough.

But, more than that: I don't like replacing large chunks of my free time with an obligation to be productive.

One of my favourite things to do with my free time is to sit down and write. Case in point *waves hand at keyboard and screen*. But only when I'm in the mood. Only when Steve isn't hovering around, wanting to want The Handmaid's Tale (the revelation that feminist literature can be more chillingly dystopian than Pop Culture Aimed At Men Like Him has been quite something). Only when I wouldn't rather be reading. Only when I've had a calm (or, possibly, particularly tricky) day of parenting and don't mind giving my brain over to actual thoughts. 

I don't like feeling that I have to write. And I don't like feeling that I have to write far enough in advance that I can spare an evening to go to the theatre.

So, I've stopped.

Instead, I'm back to battering away at my keyboard for twenty minutes, here and there, when I've got something - or nothing much - to say. 

Twenty minutes - that's how long I've been typing this post. 

Now to go off and relax.

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