This past few weeks has been hideous. A strong word amongst so many other words I could use to describe this season. Death, threat, anger, pain. So much grieving going on for the black community at the moment, it’s hard to know where to start in unpacking it all. It’s definitely something I will write about in coming weeks, but I need some space before I can go there. The whole damn thing has got me completely mulged.

And the rest of it – as if Brexit and Megxit wasn’t bad enough, now we’re living under the banner of the C-word, the one that trumps all other profane topics, and which, unlike the other two dramas, (1) we didn’t see coming and (2) has no comedic mileage or villains to disparage. And in case you’re wondering, mulged is a real word. It’s my word of the mulged-up year

Highs and lows

1. 2020 started with rehearsals for my show, Shame Shanties. I CAN’T EVEN BEGIN TO TELL YOU HOW EXCITED I WAS TO START THIS PROJECT! Hopefully, the capital letters will give you a clue. Gathering eight talented but very different women in one space to create a musical performance featuring sea shanties, exploring the various ways shame impacts women (breathe out!) was a challenging but extremely stimulating experience. The Company we formed was brilliant, with loads of bants and support in the rehearsal room. Then the C-word. I can barely describe my disappointment when I had to postpone the show three weeks before our proposed performance date in April. I put information out to the Company and contacted ticket holders, planning to make adjustments so the show could go ahead in September. My fingers are still crossed. Though since then, the updates coming from Public Health and the government are changing at such a quick-fire speed that I can hardly formulate a cohesive thought in my head let alone plan a new performance. Which leads onto…

2. …another area I’m struggling with – uncertainty. Those who know me know that I like to have all my t’s crossed and my dots lined up. Am I mixing my metaphors? I’m past caring, which shows how bad things have gone because Liz does not mix metaphors. But since my diary for the next 15 months has been butchered, leaving a gaping chasm in my future and finances, my grammar, writing style and quirky witticisms have fallen flat. Fallen flat? Lazy, Liz, really lame. I’ve taken to looking at the pages of my diary and writing fake entries, or sometimes even using the pages for notes. Just so you know, I have loads of diaries, colourful calendar stationery and ‘To do’ pads, and they’ve all been left hanging. I’ve had work cancelled (theatre, training and coaching) and where I would normally have been in a frenzy of activity (and, no doubt, complaining about it!) I am plodding along quite slowly, aching for lack of a packed schedule. I thrive on busyness. My OCD is managed through positive routine. I have allayed some of my anxiety by getting a job with the NHS (you know, a side gig) as a 111 Health Advisor. This has put some of my mental health and coaching training to use and given me the chance to leave the house three days per week. So silver linings and all that, plus it has…

3. …inspired some new work. Been thinking of some health themed monologues for a while, but the season has made me start re-working them. I’m constantly jotting down (very loose) ideas for future work, but the space has also given me a chance to think about how I like to work, who I like to work with and what my own strengths are. I like the work of Carl Honoré and his Slow movement and have taken some encouragement from his books this week (check out ‘The Power of Slow’). I see myself as someone who would benefit from doing things slower, or at the pace they should be done, and not at breakneck speed for fear of stopping and thinking (truth be told, that is me most of the time). This season has forced some slowness on me. I’m forever preaching about the virtues of creating space, but dammit I mostly ignore my own advice. Due to an unexpected attack of neuropathic pain, I’m having to do a few more early nights, and where tiredness usually fails to knock me out at a decent time, painkillers that could floor a rhino now do the trick. So yeah, I’m getting slower. But hopefully, for the shortest of seasons. Thinking of those who are struggling at this time, and for all those grieving. Praying the C-word moves on quickly. Hopefully before my brain turns to mulge.

Photo by Chris Lawton