August was a blur. Of weddings, and new clients, and long bar shifts. Of bad choices and bad food and too many big nights out. Of going to bed late and waking up and looking immediately at TikTok then wondering why i felt weird all day.
August was a blur. It always is. I wonder when I’ll shake it off, the feeling that August gives me, of unbridled hedonism and doing the bad thing and having Plans I Can’t Get Out Of so rebelling with Plans I Shouldn’t Be Taking Part In that leaves me, every year, spat out at the mouth of September discombobulated and gasping for breath like at the bottom of a water slide.
2024 was the year of Brat summer but honestly (and not to brag) I’ve been a massive Brat since the first time I stepped foot in a club. Since the day I was born if you ask my mum. Not that I’ve ever minded until now. And Brat is after all my favourite restaurant in London but that’s beside the point isn’t it.
Sorry, I just lost my train of thought.
It really annoys me when people say ‘trail of thought’ when it is in fact ‘train’. I just Googled that to double-check because I don’t like being wrong. But let me find it, this runaway train of mine.
August. It’s September now - but of course you know that - and it might have taken me until almost midway through the month but I am making changes. I am, just this morning I tapped my eggs diligently into My Fitness Pal. And I’ve started working INTENTIONALLY and I might be about to spend a huge sum of money on a coworking space in Shoreditch. Just so I can cycle in and say hello to other humans. Just so I can feel like a 3D person again.
It’s September now so my mum and my sister are meeting today. After 18 months, they’re meeting in Montreal and I feel nervous (a bit) and jealous (a lot). I didn’t give it much thought before it happened but being halfway across the world from my sister sometimes makes me feel like I’m wearing a jumper with too many arms. Two of them flapping away in the wind. Didn’t there used to be something here?
I feel that sensation a lot, actually. The ‘didn’t there used to be something here?’ feeling that I can trace back to starting in March 2020. Before I had enough time to traverse the folds in my brain, when life was a comforting sequence of commuting and spin classes and Tesco meal deals. Of emails and having a manager and calling Mum on the walk home.
I think that’s what the coworking space is all about. Not that a poorly lit office in Shoreditch is going to change my life. Although it does sound like I’m pinning my hopes on it, but it’s everything that comes with it. Colleagues and bathroom breaks and drinking tea out of communal mugs and overhearing other people’s conversations. It’s the stuff of life.
My boyfriend recently told me that coming home to me is like coming home to a dog that needs a piss. I’d be offended except he has a point. But it’s hard to explain to someone the effect of spending too much time inside your own brain. A washing machine of thoughts with no sounding board to bounce off. Save the ever-enduring Whatsapp groups inside my iPhone.
Back to August for a minute. It was a strange month as I didn’t really notice the passing of time. I’m afraid this happens to me every year, once I’ve got my birthday out the way, the rest of the year is a big blob until the clocks change around the end of October and I can get stuck into the countdown to receiving more presents. This year was the same, but I should have been grateful for THIS August because it finally brought me what I had been asking for all year: more work.
Funny that the work drying up could take up an entire month (April) and make it stand out in my mind as a BAD TIME. But its return 4 months later warranted no real response. Barely a nod. Just happily tapping the numbers into my spreadsheet and doing some maths that told me I could, finally, afford a coworking space again.
That’s the weird thing about Good Times isn’t it. We can never see we’re in them until they’re over. But August WAS good - despite my complaining - so why is it such a blur? That question is rhetorical. I don’t have an answer for it I’m afraid.
August and October have similar energy in my mind. Both of them sexy months, hanging around the edges of something we all make a big deal out of. August the sexy swan song of Summer, and October the beginning of the leadup to December & the festive season. A bit cool for school. Nobody is ever mad about August or October.
September’s energy is less hot. A bit keen bean actually. “New stationery! New lunchbox recipes! Do you have sensible shoes?” energy. Maybe my missing my family is what’s allowing me to enjoy it this year. September has pulled me into sharper focus. “If you want to get ahead in life you have to at least try” it tells me, blowing icy winds through my bedroom window to get me up and out of bed. Echoing conversations I had in a past life with my Mum.
I’m watching a show on Netflix that plays around with the idea that time is linear. It argues that at any one point, we are existing in every moment we’ve ever existed. This brings me comfort, sometimes. The idea that there exists a version of me eating salmon stir fry with my whole family after school, and singing karaoke songs with my university friends at pre drinks, and getting ready for a night out with Meryl in our house on Dawlish Road, and napping with Roz in my loft room in Clapton.
But as I can’t feel them - those versions - as they aren’t tangible to me I find myself focussing on months. On one step in front of the other. August was a blur, but September will be sharp.
We’ll always be getting ready in Dawlish Road (hopefully not actually)
Loved this 🙌🤣❤️