(no subject)
I have a headache. I cannot breathe. I have slept, rather than studied, the majority of my weekend away. I did not make it home because I do not have a normal family and I was grouchy, which is always an explosive combination. I am now sitting here missing my little Devin ferociously. I have no time for anyone or anything. I keep telling myself that in two months, I will be able to spend as much time with the little guy as I want to. As soon as school ends, I will finally be able to move on to the next phase, to have time for my family, to be able to hang with my friends (well, really friend singular, but that's fine) or even have nice, relaxing alone time without constantly guilting myself for not working. Two months is not such a long time, especially considering that this (2008) has literally been the fastest year of my life. I'm supposed to go away next weekend to Chicago with Megan (see again, singular), and I'm already guilting myself for it, even though I know that I need the time away, the time to have fun, the time to relax, the time to hang spend time with my best friend who I feel like I haven't been able to see for more than five minutes in an eon. I should go, and yet....I guilt, and I guilt, and I guilt. I will go. And damnit, I will NOT guilt.
I am moderately depressed today, and I don't really know why. I'm pretty sure it's a combination of the aforementioned lack of time and the accompanying isolation, hormones, and the fact that my weekend did not turn out as planned, which always frustrates me to a point of insanity. My upstairs neighbor is listening to Tapestry by Carole King, and I am thanking him for reminding me, once again, that I need that album.
Soon there will be time. There are already plans. Plans for moving away as soon as possible, plans for using graduation money irresponsibly for a solitary road trip that will not include many, if any, previously planned destinations; plans for swimming, plans for running, plans for piano lessons and pottery classes. Plans for being grateful that I have made it through the last two horrific years and for leaving all of this behind save the positive things I have learned. Plans for simple things that probably seem boring to the normal 20-something partying crowd, but as I said, leaving it all behind. I'm actually out of that phase and I do not care if that makes me seem lame or boring, because it is a survival tactic that I have been trying to develop for two years that I finally was able to accomplish. Now all I really want are hammocks and books and toddlers and kittens and puppies and rubber tree plants. And albums on vinyl.
Two months, and then I can begin in actuality. For tonight, I will watch Elizabethtown, and listen to Lindsey Buckingham, and eat oatmeal cookies, and do laundry, and read Milton, and do my Spanish homework, and take a shower. And I will feel better. And I will learn to relax, to slow down, to stop going to such extremes. To stop letting anyone dictate my life and happiness other than myself.
I am moderately depressed today, and I don't really know why. I'm pretty sure it's a combination of the aforementioned lack of time and the accompanying isolation, hormones, and the fact that my weekend did not turn out as planned, which always frustrates me to a point of insanity. My upstairs neighbor is listening to Tapestry by Carole King, and I am thanking him for reminding me, once again, that I need that album.
Soon there will be time. There are already plans. Plans for moving away as soon as possible, plans for using graduation money irresponsibly for a solitary road trip that will not include many, if any, previously planned destinations; plans for swimming, plans for running, plans for piano lessons and pottery classes. Plans for being grateful that I have made it through the last two horrific years and for leaving all of this behind save the positive things I have learned. Plans for simple things that probably seem boring to the normal 20-something partying crowd, but as I said, leaving it all behind. I'm actually out of that phase and I do not care if that makes me seem lame or boring, because it is a survival tactic that I have been trying to develop for two years that I finally was able to accomplish. Now all I really want are hammocks and books and toddlers and kittens and puppies and rubber tree plants. And albums on vinyl.
Two months, and then I can begin in actuality. For tonight, I will watch Elizabethtown, and listen to Lindsey Buckingham, and eat oatmeal cookies, and do laundry, and read Milton, and do my Spanish homework, and take a shower. And I will feel better. And I will learn to relax, to slow down, to stop going to such extremes. To stop letting anyone dictate my life and happiness other than myself.