/5/ The one where Fiona takes on too much

Better late than never!”, I always say… But the motto which I apply to this blog has started to fail me in my use of it on the rest of my life.

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The fact is, I’ve had to resort to it more than I’m comfortable with recently. I’ve gone and taken too much on again, just like last year when I put on 5 plays in three months and subsequently had a complete and utter meltdown. No surprise there.  For a self-described lazy person who likes nothing more than eating Nutella on toast in bed while watching New Girl, I have an uncanny knack on stressing myself out beyond health and sanity.

So here’s the rundown…

  • I tutor a 12-year old boy in German once a week,
  • I work one shift in my college bar every week,
  • I take photos for a student newspaper every Wednesday,
  • I am the Domestic and Accommodations Officer in College,
  • I am on a long-term photography contract for my College which takes time out of my week each week,
  • I am on the committee for the Turl Streets Arts Festival and its behemoth of a Closing Party,
  • I am a research assistant on a ten-hour-a-week historical linguistics project (so exciting!).

Oh yeah, and then there’s that essay-a-week (plus busy work like translations) degree I do on the side. I’m also writing an article about Norway for a student travel magazine, and am the lead tenant in my leaking, creaking, rotting, crumbling rented student-house which means I spend a good hour each week on the phone with maintenance men and my landlord.

TOO MUCH.

ARGH.

So why is the photo for this week a crappy camera-phone snapshot of a train station? Because last weekend I packed up my netbook and a couple of books about expressionism, and hopped on the twenty-minute train home. I met up with my Mum for a much-needed catch-up, I hung out at home with my awesome brother and dad, I read a lot about the expressionists and ended up having a little cry about their failed dreams (overreact, much?) before being bundled into bed by my mother.

A break is exactly what I needed, and the essay I wrote ended up being one which I am immensely proud of. I remembered that weekend the reason that I’m here: my degree. I think you’ll struggle to find someone who has made such an about turn on their degree choice as I have: from reluctantly dragging myself here to study German, when I really wanted to learn about Ibsen and Strindberg (still do, always will), to now being in love with German literature as much as Scandinavian. And, when I get a few hours to devote to it, I am happy and at peace.

I know the peace is there, then, I just have to make time for it.

I hope you find your peace.

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