We all know it. That feeling when we just didn't get what we needed from something. It can be directed at ourselves, others, events, pretty much anything. I've had a couple of those disappointments in a row over the weekend.

I haven't left the house much in the last month or so. My anxiety's really quite bad, along with other things, and I just haven't had a whole lot of motivation or confidence. So this weekend wiped me out.

On Saturday, I went to a writer's panel. I figured it'd be quiet, I could sit at the back and keep myself to myself. If I felt up to it, I could spend half an hour or so networking at the end. I was right in that it was quiet. But I'd be expecting to take more away from it. It's a not-very-well-kept secret that I'd like to put all my experiences together in a book sooner rather than later. I was hoping that this panel would be encouraging, but if anything, it was quite discouraging. I wrote it off as a wasted journey.

Yesterday, I went to a concert. I haven't been to a concert alone in over a year. By the time the main performer came onstage, I was quite low and considering leaving once I'd heard the songs I really wanted, no, needed to hear. Instead, I pushed through, knowing that if I later learned that something incredible had happened then I'd be kicking myself.

When I left the venue at the end, I was disappointed all over again. I was walking away without having got the emotional release that I so desperately needed. The singer was someone I'd seen earlier in the year, busking, and I'd seen them in the midst of the news about the shootings in Orlando. This concert was my way of going and being able to enjoy the experience without sobbing as my phone pinged with updated death tolls every few minutes.

I didn't get that. I don't know how I'm going to deal with it, either. I guess getting some sleep would be a good start.

I've one final social engagement this year, and I'm looking forward to it. I'm also looking forward to hibernating for the rest of the year.