This is not - speaking as one of the most obsessive individuals ever to grace the earth - particularly surprising, but I have become somewhat of a workaholic. That's right. I am hardcore addicted to workahol. I also have a job that's largely social media-related and a position that requires me to be contactable a large portion of the time, and as such there is not much of a separation between work and the rest of my life. Out of the last four months I would say I've genuinely switched off technologically and disconnected mentally on the days I was at my dad's for Christmas, the various hours I was with David and that is about it. I. am. exhausted.

It's partially out of my hands, because by nature the work I do doesn't stop when I leave the office, but a huge part of it is just my own personal inability to switch off. I've grown up having a lot of issues with concentration, which means that my productivity is either zero or 1000, and that inconsistency has trained me over time to always feel as though I SHOULD be doing something other than whatever it is I am. Basically there's a nice little gift basket of factors at my door like "ding dong you're at breaking point", and when I open it instead of mini muffins it's stress and ADD and the fact you can't get instagram photos to self-publish via Hootsuite yet.

Honestly the fact that is the straight up flimsiest metaphor I've ever crafted should nicely chauffeur you towards the conclusion that this situation is frickin dire.

Luckily, I'm a firm believer in running away from your problems. Not really, I actually think that's a terrible idea and almost always makes things worse in the long run, but I do tend to book flights when I'm stressed and this was no exception. However, considering I have never been this close to an actual not-just-a-dramatic-only-child-tantrum involuntary breakdown in my entire damn life, I knew that a typical jaunt to Italy wasn't going to cut it and pulled out the big guns: Jake's house.

Jake's house is familiar. It is chilled. It has Jake, Jake's family with whom I am obsessed, is conveniently located straight up in the middle of nowhere and is possibly my favourite place in the entire world. Trampolines, endless instagram material and a donkey - what more could you want. So I shoved some jumpers in a backpack, popped on a plane and spent 4 days driving around the irish countryside, annoying the shit out of Jake and actually. leaving. my work. alone. It was magical.

I did have a minor meltdown upon returning to reality, but I am solidly in the process of rebalancing things so I don't feel like I'm going to cry all the time and thus far it's going quite well. More on our time gallivanting through the fields to come, but for now I am going to get back to the work that I actually AM very much meant to be doing right now. Many blessings. Stay balanced. Sleep.

x0x0