(no subject)
I know I've said this before, but the world actually appears different when I'm too tired to deal with it. This sort of strange grey scale slide show is reminiscent of incomprehensible film noir festival knock offs. I beg for something to look forward to. I plug along, punctuating my long, uncomfortable days with food, the occasional hug, the even more infrequent swim. If I swam more I could at least have a few more minutes each week in that meditative, blank head space. Most of this attitude is due to being overworked. I know this. I have far too much to consume my mind during the week, and even the weekend, and then I am left with a few minutes each day in which I am unequivocally unproductive and lazy in an attempt to recover. In other circumstances I would welcome the distraction. Today is Friday, and I am already starting to dread the coming weekend. I no longer look forward to spending time at home, for some reasons which I will not get into here. One main public reason is that I crawl out of my skin with the depression I battle on a daily basis, and knowing I cannot have simple relief takes a large toll on my mood. I know that tomorrow I will wake up, make coffee and watch TV until swimming at 9:30. It's the last Saturday swim of the summer and I want to take advantage of it. I know I will have to go back home at some point. I know I will have to clean up and try to have a livable space. That idea makes me want to cry. Sigh. I have six and a half hours to get through before I can go home. I'm hoping that they go quickly.