Call me a wimp and get on with it.
I recently arrived in a large, and incredibly charming house in the ‘burbs. It was built in 1908, and I’m going to be surviving the next few weeks in extraordinarily high levels of comfort.
Ugh, I don’t know how I’m going to do it either.
The owners abandoned the house for three weeks and went gallivanting off to Italy for some pasta—as all semi-retired people should do—which means the only living things left on the premises are me, their dog and about a million plants.
My challenge: keep us all alive.
First day I arrived, I had to find a bed to call my own for the duration of the stay. It was a real Goldilocks expedition. I had three beds to choose from and I ended up settling into the owner’s bed because it was just right.
Master bedrooms always are just right, although I don’t think it’s PC to call it a master bedroom anymore, but for the sake of pointing that out, I will leave it as is.
Once I’d established where I was going to rest my weary head each night, I realised that it’d be getting dark soon and I still hadn’t acquainted myself with the light switches.
I’d already established the living things I was dealing with, but remember how I said that this house was built in 1908? I wasn’t sure if there was going to be anything dead I’d have to negotiate with 👻
Okay, so I don’t believe in ghosts but I am scared of the dark, it’s a whole thing.
Anyway, what a bloody house!
If Comfort is for Wimps, then get on with it and call me a wimp because I had a real wimpy weekend and I don’t even feel bad about it.
I was actually pretty hormonal on the weekend. Feeling sorry for myself around various life matters, so on top of keeping everyone alive, I didn’t do much else beside sip red wine responsibly, eat chocolate-covered macadamias, and have spontaneous weeps on the yoga mat.
I’ll tell ya what, one of the best places I’ve ever had an emotional meltdown.
I just spent two days lounging around in any one of the three lounging areas. If I wasn’t doing that, I was walking the dog in bushland or throwing myself around the backyard to the beats of The Weeknd’s Blinding Lights ringing through my ears.
By Tuesday, my estrogen and testosterone were back in balance and I came out of it pretending like nothing ever happened.
I may have even had a little extra testosterone because do you even lift, bro? Yes.
And that’s just life. It’s up and it’s down and it’s move yourself all around as an unconventional nomadic home girl.
Get on with it. Enjoy it. Accept that life sucks sometimes, and that will occasionally coincide with getting your period. But it all shall pass.
Stop investing in people who don’t invest in you. Be curious about new people. Ask questions. Get out of your head. Find the next animal to care for. Drink water. Lift heavy things. Eat fermented foods. Cry and be sure to capture it in case you need it for content.
I’m in Sydney this month, but last month I ventured to the Southern Highlands and made the video below.
Some people go to therapy, others journal, meditate or pray. I make videos👇👀👇👀👇👀👇👀
Over and out chicos.
PLEASE EXCUSE TYPOS.
Hey, pal. If you’re still here. Could you do me a favor and subscribe to my YouTube channel. Or subscribe on here, SubStack (less important to me). Thanking you.