So that was 2018 and being 35. For all the horrors that await next year, I’ll be glad to be done with this one.
By the end of the Fringe I was completely burned out. It felt like everyone was struggling this August, it was a tough one – and I’d managed to bust my knee in the last days of July, so it didn’t take long to find myself both literally and figuratively limping. Fringe flu got me a few days in, giving me a cough so bad that I cracked a rib, so by the end of the month I was held together by bandages and gaff. I’ve been wanting to write about this year’s Fringe experience ever since, but even now, months later, I don’t have the bandwidth. I was back to work within three hours of Heaven Burns closing and my head has been noisy ever since.
I had anticipated that the anniversary of my mum’s death would be a difficult one. 15 years is a long time, and it had been weirding me out for some time that at 35 I would be 15 years from the last time I saw her and 15 years from reaching the age she was when she died. The schizo brain insists on trying to map all sorts of doom-laden meanings onto that, and events around me were not helping. Much as I hate to get cryptic, I can’t talk about those events – some aren’t my stories to tell, some I don’t have words for. The important thing is that time passed, and the headspace started to recover a bit in November.
I do want to do a Year in Review post and talk about the things I’ve got coming up next year and my goals for 2019, but I think that’ll have to be a separate post. This will do for now.