And so.
Back, after-two years, which itself was after an absence of four years. The unexamined life, wot?
Well. I've been doing things. Participating in things. I'm writing now because I'm at what I think can safely be called a "crossroads", though in fact it's not just two roads that are crossing. The Good Job didn't work out; as soon as I enrolled in grad school, my workload doubled (with both domestic and international accounts), and all my all-nighters went to keeping the client, rather than to my schoolwork. So, unclear on what's going on with school, and I dropped the job back in September.
I've taken about six months, now, to lie around and watch TV. Sleep all day, dick around all night. Some dance performances, going out with friends, etc. I pretend I freelance, but-tho I could-I don't because I don't feel like it and, at least for now, don't super have to.
A friend has "fobbed off" on me a rescue cat, so atm I'm having that experience; I haven't lived with anyone since college, so it's fun, sorta, to readjust my habits. I had this whole honeymoon with the cat, during which I was Experiencing New Stuff; now I find she just kinda annoys me, always wanting attention and breaking my things and disturbing my sleep and impeding my efforts to tidy the old place up. But I understood from the outset that things would be broken and routines would change, and now we seem to be reaching an understanding.
I've been doing what I think we can safely call major depression. It's that feeling of being "underwater", for months. Entire days go by when I don't manage to do anything at all. I commit to things and then don't follow through on them. I mope around. I drink too much and forget to eat. I decline invitations because I don't want to be seen. Late at night I text to people angry, hurtful things that I don't particularly mean. I think of it as the thanatotic impulse, the impulse to destroy good things. I feel it less now, since I've left work; now it's just a kind of deadness. I assume I'll get through it, somehow; it's my nature to be cheerful and bouncy rather than morose. But, the older I get, the less sure I am of second chances. I've had many of them, I know, and life has thrown at me a zillion opportunities. I think, though, that I have to fix whatever's broken inside before I can make any meaningful choices outside. So, now the trick is to do that while also keeping the boat afloat-paying bills, etc. Doesn't sound like much of a challenge, I know, but for me, at the moment, it is.
When I was working I was into it heart and soul; each crisis was, in its way, a Purpose. They needed me to come through, and I did. The all-nighters, and sleeping with laptop, and working on trains and in conference sessions-it all meant that I was valuable in some specific way, that the boat could not sail without me. Now that I've left all that behind, swinging from vine to no vine, I feel adrift. I mix metaphors. Without someone to tell me what to do, I just rev. I have no specific will of my own. I just sigh and watch more TV.
So, now I'm trying to make my will to clean this house. I haven't super bothered, in the seven or so years since I moved in, and because there's too much space for me here there's all kinds of dumb junk around. Amazon packaging. Broken bits from furniture. Gargoyles. (Well, not gargoyles, but that thought reminded me of the little yard I saw behind Notre Dame in Paris, where they keep all the bits that have broken off the gargoyles. I'm sure they mean to glue them all back on, someday.)
Today is another quiet day. Friday, when people who work are looking forward to the weekend, weekend. Tomorrow I have a Japanese tea class that I may or may not attend; it involves some travel, and I'm not sure I'll feel up to it. Also this weekend, a Japanese calligraphy lesson; same deal. And, of course, Sunday is St Patrick's Day; I feel I should do something in honor of that, but in this big old boring house there's not much point to decorating or cooking. So, maybe I'll just put on some jigs, reels, and hornpipes and hardshoe around for a while.
Reader-I don't suppose you exist, but I have to assume you-I wish I had more interesting things to say. I need to have my hair cut, but the people there intimidate me with their hipness. I may or may not have a dinner date. I'm supposed to be writing something and contacting some people about work. I should send an e-mail about my school status via an account that isn't through school and should still work. I've mixed a solution for cleaning the kitchen floor.
It really is one thrill after another.
Anyway. I write just because I've been, for the past six months and for years before that, in the habit of not examining my life, and I understand that that must change. I don't know what comes next for me, but-whatever it is-the decision should be a thoughtful one. That's tough stuff for me, but one has to make an effort-no?
Well. I've been doing things. Participating in things. I'm writing now because I'm at what I think can safely be called a "crossroads", though in fact it's not just two roads that are crossing. The Good Job didn't work out; as soon as I enrolled in grad school, my workload doubled (with both domestic and international accounts), and all my all-nighters went to keeping the client, rather than to my schoolwork. So, unclear on what's going on with school, and I dropped the job back in September.
I've taken about six months, now, to lie around and watch TV. Sleep all day, dick around all night. Some dance performances, going out with friends, etc. I pretend I freelance, but-tho I could-I don't because I don't feel like it and, at least for now, don't super have to.
A friend has "fobbed off" on me a rescue cat, so atm I'm having that experience; I haven't lived with anyone since college, so it's fun, sorta, to readjust my habits. I had this whole honeymoon with the cat, during which I was Experiencing New Stuff; now I find she just kinda annoys me, always wanting attention and breaking my things and disturbing my sleep and impeding my efforts to tidy the old place up. But I understood from the outset that things would be broken and routines would change, and now we seem to be reaching an understanding.
I've been doing what I think we can safely call major depression. It's that feeling of being "underwater", for months. Entire days go by when I don't manage to do anything at all. I commit to things and then don't follow through on them. I mope around. I drink too much and forget to eat. I decline invitations because I don't want to be seen. Late at night I text to people angry, hurtful things that I don't particularly mean. I think of it as the thanatotic impulse, the impulse to destroy good things. I feel it less now, since I've left work; now it's just a kind of deadness. I assume I'll get through it, somehow; it's my nature to be cheerful and bouncy rather than morose. But, the older I get, the less sure I am of second chances. I've had many of them, I know, and life has thrown at me a zillion opportunities. I think, though, that I have to fix whatever's broken inside before I can make any meaningful choices outside. So, now the trick is to do that while also keeping the boat afloat-paying bills, etc. Doesn't sound like much of a challenge, I know, but for me, at the moment, it is.
When I was working I was into it heart and soul; each crisis was, in its way, a Purpose. They needed me to come through, and I did. The all-nighters, and sleeping with laptop, and working on trains and in conference sessions-it all meant that I was valuable in some specific way, that the boat could not sail without me. Now that I've left all that behind, swinging from vine to no vine, I feel adrift. I mix metaphors. Without someone to tell me what to do, I just rev. I have no specific will of my own. I just sigh and watch more TV.
So, now I'm trying to make my will to clean this house. I haven't super bothered, in the seven or so years since I moved in, and because there's too much space for me here there's all kinds of dumb junk around. Amazon packaging. Broken bits from furniture. Gargoyles. (Well, not gargoyles, but that thought reminded me of the little yard I saw behind Notre Dame in Paris, where they keep all the bits that have broken off the gargoyles. I'm sure they mean to glue them all back on, someday.)
Today is another quiet day. Friday, when people who work are looking forward to the weekend, weekend. Tomorrow I have a Japanese tea class that I may or may not attend; it involves some travel, and I'm not sure I'll feel up to it. Also this weekend, a Japanese calligraphy lesson; same deal. And, of course, Sunday is St Patrick's Day; I feel I should do something in honor of that, but in this big old boring house there's not much point to decorating or cooking. So, maybe I'll just put on some jigs, reels, and hornpipes and hardshoe around for a while.
Reader-I don't suppose you exist, but I have to assume you-I wish I had more interesting things to say. I need to have my hair cut, but the people there intimidate me with their hipness. I may or may not have a dinner date. I'm supposed to be writing something and contacting some people about work. I should send an e-mail about my school status via an account that isn't through school and should still work. I've mixed a solution for cleaning the kitchen floor.
It really is one thrill after another.
Anyway. I write just because I've been, for the past six months and for years before that, in the habit of not examining my life, and I understand that that must change. I don't know what comes next for me, but-whatever it is-the decision should be a thoughtful one. That's tough stuff for me, but one has to make an effort-no?