I am living my life in a serious condition of self induced time poverty.
Mate. It’s chronic.
I have to admit, my life is run according to the details in my diary. All my to do’s are set out day after day after day, all scheduled in to half hour increments. I take – almost perverse – satisfaction in crossing the fuck out of a task once completed, and I have pandemic panics each evening upon my last look of listings and the realisation that a number of items haven’t been attended to.
I have been busy busy busy. Working, yes, ( racking up 60+ hours a week between the fair few places to a pretty ridiculous totalling I must say), but also in the realm of my mind; let’s face it, the psyche of Pop hasn’t been in the most conducive, calm nor content spaces of late and the suppressed stress and saddenings have meant many of my need-to-attend-to’s have slipped further and further back in the book.
My celebrancy website, for one. The domain is all purchased, the design is all, well, designed, but getting together a cluster of clock turns to get it all together and live just hasn’t – in my hectic head – materialised. Likewise, old Popyarns here – if neglect to a digital platform was a thing, this forum here would most definitely have me in court. I have a long, long, long list of subjects and topics to harp on about, but, well, where is the time? And Seedless Green Grapes? Don’t even get me started. If progress was measured by scenario status, I am completed, published and onto book number four; alas in the reality and actuality of things, we are in the midst of the last few chapters of numero #1.
That’s the thing though, isn’t it? Your day off seems wide open and full of possibility to smash out to-do’s, but suddenly it’s 3.30pm and all you’ve done is do yoga while watching Coro St (hey, you can still be mindful whilst schadenfreudely catching up on the going-ons of Steph and so-called Gavin), attend to a paltry amount of life admin, and you have to get it together to go and do social meetings/evening yoga classes/ [insert other activity here].
I’m sorry Popyarns, I well and truly am. Doing a post on Queenstown shenanigans has been listed as a necessity for almost a month now; so many threads to weave about accidentally busting down the advanced slopes and having a lad ski me down with my bod pressed against his to safety, only to later match on Tinder; doing the Nevis Swing with Sheri, to come up and proposition yet another lad to go for round two then and there with me (on the swing, keep your mind in line mate) and then later have a spontaneous hike and luge with him; of nights out and hot tubs and D&Ms until 4am each morning. I apologise, but I feel these tales may never quite come to fruition; the gusto grin garners and in-the-mo hilarity has disminished somewhat after four weeks and I feel I won’t quite do them justice. A tad grieving really; I had some fabulous fables that shall never be uttered out in prose, but never the mind – oh so many more are a’coming.
I dream of India every night. No embellishments or puffery or magnification. I am absolutely fizzing for June 2-0-17 when I shall relocate to Rishikesh for a number of months. The mind frame I was in and the insights I had were absolutely groundbreaking, and it saddens me to the core that the upkeep of such mindfulness hasn’t been something I have attained. But there is much difference; now I’ve experienced that person I became and I know how much better I can feel in my mind, body and soul, I’m determined to go back, get it back and make it my day-to-day norm.

And I’m not going to stress about regular posting on here. Yarns will be much more ponder prompting and what not when I’m back in my heart home (India mate), so when a topic comes to the old headspace that has my fingers twitching to type I’ll hustle it down, but otherwise I’m not going to do so for the sake of it. Let’s set the site up, sort it out – and have Sundays set to not being scheduled, but free for fun.
Let’s work on getting this mind out of the “no-time-no-time-no-time” and into the realm of “absolutely – when suits?”.
Impromptuality and spontaneity need more of a say so in my week to week I reckon.
Other updates? Old Hank III has become a bit of a unit. Eight weeks old and is quite the filled out lad. Has started smiling and I’m just hanging out to take to his face with a vivid (OK, whiteboard pen; I feel the brother Michael will not take too kindly to me hustling some shaggy eyebrows on his offspring’s face in itself, without the added factor of them staining the chap’sface for a good few weeks). (Hanky’s head, not old Mikey’s, I must clarify). I never knew it was possible to feel such love for a thing that can’t even hold eye contact, let alone convo – but there you go. Great plans for that Titan. (Again, Hank – not Michael. The latter is quite capable of pupil locking and engaging in chat if it so suits him and is on a topic if interest. Luckily we now have the fabulous common ground of his son to make like Chuck Taylor’s and Converse on).

I have also come into the rather unexpected situation of having a boyf. They say things happen when you aren’t looking for them; well, if you so want to have the same happen to you, do as I did and swear blind it’s to be a year of only yourself with seeing no one in a relationshipal capacity im any which way whatsoever and it may just occur. I’ll leave it at that I feel; more may come out at a later date, or it may not. I find I don’t want to bare quite all about my life anymore and keep some aspects unlit out.
So yes. Apologies for the silent stretches. I shall make up for them with gusto when back enlightening myself as I swan about the Ganges again, with the next eight months or so peppered with sporadic utterings. I’m determined to become that Pop that I want to be effortlessly and with ease on the daily, so now and then I will bust out with some blogging on the status.
For now, the goal is to get out of secondly scheduling starvation. And oh yes, learn how to surf.
Catch ya.

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