Monday, 11 June 2018


I am not doing the Miracle Morning sequence correctly; I meditated and should now be doing the 5-minute journal, followed by excercising, followed by reading and only then doing this part. But my head is fizzing and I have so much to say and so much to think about.
How do fuck-ups happen? I am now convinced that so many of them come form a lack of self-efficacy. Also interference, yet lack of self-efficacy is itself a huge factor in the interference. I need to have more push-factor. More push-outwards. More force and energy.
Then there is sickness. My continued sickness is also a function of lack of self-efficacy and self-care, as I took so long to get around to going to the doctor. And then I didn't go to the doctor last week. And I cancelled my chest X-ray.
I didn't do my corrections in time. I haven't been exercising due to the illness. I am so sick of this now! I am sick of being sick. I am going to call the hospital today and re-book my X-ray. Maybe I should go down to the GPs but my own GP is on holidays and I don't want to see the other doctor. Maybe I should. Maybe I could just call and see whoever is on.
This is digression. I will turn on the time and write for twenty minutes.
I went to Borris again. This year was different as I wasn't on my own for the whole thing, and also because I went out on the Saturday night, which I had not done before. That made a huge difference. I spoke to people. Now feel that I wasted all the other years by not going out. It also meant Sunday was a write-off as I was absolutely knackered. I felt fine at 2.30 on Sunday morning but then woke at 5.30. I hadn't planned ahead and brought in water and something sugary to have before bed. I didn't have the worst hangover ever, but I felt it. Looking forward now to having a shower in my own house and also in staying inside out of the sun all day. Like the vampire I am.
It did make me determined to write. Write about what though? The weekend was unusual in that I had an abundance of choices, rather than trying to expand my little range of experience. I feel now I could have focused more on getting to meet editors and so on. But I have nothing written! I must write.
It was good though. Overall it was good and a huge improvement on my experience in previous years. Last year in particular was a waste. I am definitely going to write more, and see it as a job for the summer. Three hours a day. Could I do three hours a day? That's what Donna Tartt does. All fizzing up now with names of people I heard and met: Donna Tartt, Cillian Murphy, Max Porter, Margaret Atwood, Elizabeth Strout, Niall McMonagle, Suzanne O'Sullivan, Ben Anderson, Róisín Ingle, Rick Stroud, Enda Walsh, Margaret Macmillan, Guy and Gala Pratt, Roy Foster, who said my question was "good and ominous" and that Richard Bruton is a "philistine".
It is so hot now. It was lovely up there but so hot, and I wish now it would rain and that the temperatures would come down a little. I know the heat and the sun are good for me. Today is my first proper day with no school-work to do. So I am going to do my new job, which is being a writer. In order to be a writer I must be published. It is where and how to do this publishing. That is the question. I think I will send my stories that I have out to some journals and prizes today. And aim lower, as Elizaabeth Strout was saying about having her first story printed in a very small magazine. I remember myself being published in tiny "Metropolitan" and all that came from there.

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