I had to have a word with myself recently. I mentioned over breakfast to myself that perhaps if I had a spare moment then maybe I'd enjoy a sit down and a chat to talk about what was on my mind. I refused to listen to the protest that nothing was on my mind, that I was fine, really, and that I was really busy. I knew something was up. Me, myself and I had that coffee. It was needed. I don't even want to type this but Internet? I think I stopped saying yes to life.
I've been working a lot. Or rather, A Lot. And I love it. I adore the job I have right now. I get to tour Italy, stay with families, work with kids in a job that allows me to sing and dance and act and write and make people laugh. I mean, if I wasn't the one doing this then I'd probably sort of dislike me. Which I've been told is quite an easy thing to, what with the high self-esteem and all. Wooopsies! Works with the kids though- they lap up this extrovertism like Russell Brand does the white stuff off of a Turkish woman of the night.
But since the end of May I have been on the road, and most weeks haven't even had a day off. It's been a workshop here and a training week there, mixed up with English city camps and trips to London and buses and trains and aeroplanes and... and... and... AND after training up all those other English tutors- all 450 of them in a month- maybe I should have taken some time off. Because those are the same tutors I have to work with all summer and most of the time? I don't even try to get to know them. It's too much like hard work when I know I'll only work with them for five days. Isn't that awful? Hence, the coffee date I had with myself. I needed to get to the bottom of it all, if only to save myself from having to look at a face that was as long as a slapped arse every time I peered in the mirror. Plus I was promised biscuits.
I admitted I had been letting the small stuff irritate me more than it should. The way the Italian education system is so different from the British one. Slower. No technology. Full of mollycuddled kids that won't play in the dirt. I mean hell, that's sad, but it's also kind of funny. The kind of funny like when your friend tells you that growing up she thought 'STOP!' actually meant 'HARDER!' because she was fondled by her uncle. Oh wait. Right.
It was quite a successful little chat we had, my personalities and I. I'm going to give myself more emotional leeway and sometimes allow myself to feel sad and fed up if I want to- but only for a little while- and myself, well she has promised to try a bit harder to keep her chin up. There is sun, and singing, and a hellalot of Nutella gelato. Sleep when you're dead and all that.
Right now I'm working on a special project the company has, and I guess essentially I've been sub-contracted out. I'm at a residential dreamer's camp for two weeks and these kids? Young adults, actually. They're teaching me a lot. Including how to release a laugh that sounds like it came from so deep inside of me it's probably hung like David Beckham.
So. To conclude. Now I've written about it to the Internet it's official. I'll say yes again. Sorry about all the confusion.