The Sunday of a bank holiday weekend and I’m in the house alone doing some work – ahead of me lies shopping, cooking, weeding and, maybe even, ironing.
But this isn’t a pity-me kind of post. It almost was, but it isn’t.
I blame Facebook. A quick glance and I see that ‘everyone’ I know appears to be having the best ever time somewhere marvellous.
From a photo of a chilled cocktail, a sunny beach, a tourist attraction I then extrapolate the rest of their perfectness. They must, therefore, have clean houses, full bank accounts, happy children, inspired blogs and spoken-to spouses.
I find that, if I’m not careful, the contrast between the photos and my reality is a gulf that can be filled with doubts and whatever the opposite of self-respect is.
But, of course, it’s an illusion. Even if the wonderful times were quite as shiny as they’re cracked up to be, there’s nothing wrong with some quite catching up activity too – it just doesn’t look so good on in a selfie.
Not that the postings are setting out to deceive, it’s just that they’re always going to be from the best angle.
My mission (today, for now, anyhow) is to say that ‘it’s ok for things to be a bit dull, disorganised and frayed at the edges because that’s how I’m rolling for now’. We, the mediocre, rise up and say our time is now, or maybe in a few minutes when I’ve had a cup of tea.