The upshot is that with one thing and another, last week ended up being around ten or twelve days long, with certain three-hour intervals at the doctor's office that turned into entire days in and of themselves. I feel as if I've been out of school for about a month when it's only been a week, and I feel I've accomplished nothing in all this time when, in reality, the first half of last week was actually very busy indeed.
I'm still not entirely up to snuff but today is the first day I've felt well enough that the luxury of lingering in bed half the day is no longer an option. I spent the morning installing a fire extinguisher and got to feel all butch with a power drill and concrete anchors, and now I'm writing lists of things to do until I get a job. Top of list is "Finish all terrible unfinished stories on hard drive, no matter how terrible, so they will at least be terrible finished stories rather than shambling zombie-like abominations" because that is totally how I make lists. I'm also making schedules of Things To Do All Day Rather Than Sit on Sofa Listening to Podcasts, and it's really like the sort of activity lists one gets at camp or at a spa, in that it's micromanaged to a ridiculous degree, like "Noon: Check Mail" and "12.10: Put on episode of Hoarders and rearrange shit in closet" because school, I realize, has left me particularly purposeless and institutionalized, so that there's a real fear I might snap, throw a brick through the window of some other university, and try to get myself readmitted.
In a nutshell: I graduated. In narrative terms, this means that the basic premise of my entire journaling career has reached its satisfactory conclusion. Now I have to come up with a new direction for the sequel. Maybe I'll pick up a Voldemort. Or a love interest who is in no way either interesting or serious competition for my current male lead, but the will-we-or-won't-we? will pad the plot for the next couple of books. Or, and this is far more likely, we'll have kids who are harmonious amalgams of all our abilities, minus our deadly weakness, who will be more awesome than we are and go on to have much greater adventures.
Or, you know, we'll relaunch the whole thing in hopes of snagging new readers at the expense of alienating old ones. It's all up for grabs.
In other words, the same demographic who are wrong now have been wrong for the last 150 years and they show no signs of being right this time either.
I've got the living curtains open wide and the door propped open as if it wasn't fifty degrees and solidly grey outside. There is a particularly boisterous mockingbird bent on telling the world that my holly bush is his hollybush. I'm tempted to end the dispute with a pitcher of water, but meh, it's not like I'm doing anything with that holly bush, except picking its prickles out of my feet when I go out without shoes. Turn it into Mockingbird Manor if you've got it in you, little dude.
In nature, it is always the dudes. Only human males are so hopelessly backwards that they've given up any effort at plumage and still expect the ladies to flock to them. This is why I encourage metrosexuality. It's not effete. It's a return to nature's way.
I'm going to get some coffee before I start babbling further afield than I already am.
Today so far has been cold and drizzly and full of bad news. The bad news does not impact me personally, but it's enough to make me regret checking on conditions outside my own house. The world is large and vast and full of unfairness and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. Fortunately, no one's coming to me for answers, because I don't know what I'd tell them.
I don't want to go back to sleep but there's no real point in being awake, either.
Sorry but this is the sort of shit you are going to get for a while. If it's any consolation, it sucks on this end too.
This whole complete nervous breakdown thing has had the strange side-effect of bringing us together as a couple. We are usually stupidly enamored of one another, to the complete exasperation of our circle of friends, but we've started a series of serious talks, the likes of which we haven't had since back when we were dating--that weird honest period between courtship, when you try to pretend you're a much better person than you are, and engagement, when you realize you better get all this stuff out now so that everyone involved has a fair chance to back out if your personal quirks promise to be unbearable in the long term. It's a good feeling, these talks. But it feels like a retreat, where you deliberately turn your back to the world. But the world is there, still spinning. Eventually I have to turn and face it, and figure out what I'm going to do with it.
These long late-evening naps brought back a very strange memory of summer vacations as a kid, when I could often trick myself into sleeping fourteen, sixteen hours at a stretch. Whenever I woke, I would roll over to my other side and simply drop back into sleep again, like a cat or a newborn. Man, those were some awesome naps.
I still wake up around seven in the morning with that time-for-class feeling. It's a quiet little pang. I've wondered if I just couldn't come in and sit in my old classes, just to listen. It's a comforting thought, but I don't think anyone involved would be able to get past that level of awkwardness.
Late at night, I write. So at least that doesn't go away.