Working is difficult. It requires determination and mental stamina, which is a lot harder to acquire than it may appear, especially if someone, like me, works from home, without a boss hovering over.

I have been really well in the past few weeks since the new year started, but this has not been entirely enough to get me where I want to be. I am good now, but I have been unwell for so long that I have not developed routines for self-motivation. Most of the work I do is honestly very boring and I suppose it is not too difficult to see why even a cigarette or a cooking video without the sound on is more interesting than writing a 500-word blog post about how to style leggings (my honest advice on a sidenote: just dont. Unless it is sportswear).

Today I have managed to get an amazing seat at the uni library, in the corner of a reading room, by the window. Most days by the time I get here all the good seats are gone and I end up on the ground floor, at one of the long communal tables, uncomfortably close to several people who are studying with their friends and eating. The noise does not bother or distract me, it quite often helps me focus instead, but there is something inexplicably unpleasant about these people that inhabit the ground floor.Today I managed to grab this seat, with the window overlooking the back of two dark brown brick-walled townhouses and their shared garden and I am still not getting much done. I really am an ungrateful brat, it seems.


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