Work-life Imbalance

Wandering into the office with a smile on their face “isn’t it good to be back?”

Honestly, I’d rather have had another day off to get lost in nature. But here we are.

Tap. Tap. Tap, away on a machine I can’t stare at for too long without changing the colour scheme.

Scribbling away on a notebook, then another and another, ripping out messy useless pages. outdated, after just two weeks.

All set and after a quick depressing lunch of microwave made pasta, still working.

Repeat the process above and it’s 5pm. I look at the space I made on my desk for flowers but don’t make a promise I can’t keep that it will be filled the next day.

The director is right behind me almost the whole way home. Anxiety, and a growling engine from where I nearly stall in eagerness to get home.

Walking through the door and turning on the lights, lighting some candles. No smell of food.

Making pasta (the real kind), pouring in fresh ingredients, turning on some TV for sound that is more than just my own mind ticking away.

Sitting down to reply to a letter, delicately swirling the letters. So engrossed I didn’t see the mistake, the most beautiful crossed out words.

I dissolve into the brand new sofa and that’s me for an hour, rest doesn’t wait for sleep.

Breathing in the candle light, stomach filled with food that I ate thoughtfully pondering the colours of its nutrition. Balance doesn’t have to be perfect.

Just a moment where you resolve those niggles from the day. Pour in some sounds from the earth and take a moment to eat well and be human in the most simple way possible.

When you love your job it becomes your life, but there’s not quite a balance when you find you have a deficit in you personal goals.

My resolution for this year was not to restrict, but to allow myself to do as I felt I needed to when I could and that is to restore a balance of peace.

Congratulations on making today a success, whatever you did to acknowledge what you needed.

Daisy x




I Have a Thing about “borrowing” Jumpers…

I normally give them back…eventually.

But I have this collection, in my mind, of all the jumpers I’ve ever worn that weren’t mine, all the coats draped around my shoulders and all the side-effects of the question “are you cold?”

Currently I’m sat in a fluffy coat, slightly over-warm that belongs to my Grandfather.

To think of all places he’s been, stories he’s heard and things he’s said in this coat is what makes me happy. I’ll keep it for an hour or so before returning it. But if it were anyone else I might not.

When I put on the jumper of a guy I’m dating with slightly pulled sleeves or signs of wear I’m putting on a piece of them.

When they disappear, even for a little while, when I pretend I’ve accidentally packed them or forgot where I put them it tends to be because I want to hold onto whatever it is that little bit longer as I travel.

I’m not a kleptomaniac. I collect and “borrow” stories not things.

I like reserved train tickets that nobody collects. Such a shame to waste something reserved especially for you.

I like to pick up big orange leaves that other people would never see.

I like to write about people I see on trains that are mysteries. I once thought a guy was a part of something really cool because of a logo emblazoned on his brief case….the actual results were so disappointing I won’t share them with you.

I guess I just like stories, other peoples lives, things that both have and haven’t been and things that aren’t mine that can belong to me for a little while covertly.

I also like that I’m sharing this with complete strangers,