This week I caught flu for the first time ever and have spent the week in some sort of virus-fuelled parallel universe. Kind of here, but not quite. Wrapped in blankets and accompanied by an emotional-support loo roll to blow my ever-streaming nose. Muscle aches and fatigue reminiscent of the worst days of ME/CFS, a place I never want to go back to. Now, it’s 9 days later and I feel a lot better, but am still totally wiped out, although I managed a very short blim down 50 metres of the canal today (via coffee of course) and also spotted my first ever Gooseanders, so worth the payback of the rest of the day on the sofa.

The new university term started this month and having had robust intentions of sectioning uni time and home time to give my brain some sort of a break, I started the new academic year by returning spectacularly and immediately to the overwork mindset and entirely forgetting any sort of clarity that I gained over the yuletide holiday regarding thinking, processing and general ‘making time for life’ enjoyment. Nope, I was straight back in to that all-consuming, relentless push to do absolutely everything at once, immediately, with no barrier or section in between. But this flu, now I’m somewhat back on this planet, gave me a bit of a break again to remember what I decided to try for myself just a few weeks ago.

So, now I’m feeling slightly better and aiming to get back into the swing of things next week (gently), I breathe out and try again. Stop working at a certain time, unless my brain is on a roll. Have a few little transitions to move from work to home – take my makeup off, have a shower, change clothes, sit outside. Compartmentalising work hours seems to be something I really need to do. I spend all evening picking up uni emails. I don’t need to do that. I’m not even employed. Academia takes a notoriously long time to get anything done, so why am I pushing myself to be always available?

I hate having things waiting that I can just get done quickly. I really, really hate having tasks hanging over me when I can clear them quickly. Even a few hours, trying to prioritise, there’s a push to just deal immediately with everything that I know is quick. Get it out of the way, then I don’t have to spend energy and brain trying to remember multiple things later on. I don’t have to re-gain that momentum a few hours afterwards. I don’t have to re-think about stuff, if I do it in the moment. So that’s why. But I’m tired of it. I forget to live. I forget to exist outside of academia. So maybe there’s another way. There needs to be something softer. The importance needs to be outside of it, not within it.

There is warmth in the sun, a little, this week. A reminder of those things that exist outside of that self-induced panic mode, and a slight warming of my virus-depleted soul, standing liquidly in a sunbeam, eyes closed, hand gripping the doorframe to keep upright. The birdsong is crisper, louder, and a slight scent of spring in the air. Although we have weeks to go yet, there’s a nudge towards brighter days. A pastel orange and pale green on the horizon at 5pm instead of all-consuming darkness. Catkins dangling joyously from hazel branches. Birch seeds pattering on the conservatory roof, loosened by goldfinches, falling to the thick, damp earth.

Today, though, a raincloud covers the valley, pattering fat drops to saturated ground, wrapping thick blankets of cloud around windows, branches and soul, cloying and grey. Houses disappear and that damp stillness pervades. A time of stillness. A time to rest and heal.