The case continues.
It's still all upheaval. It could be far worse, I'm sure...I could be unemployed this second with no money, I could be out of my flat, I could I could I could.
I guess this is normal when you spend your week off going through your father's things and throwing them away. People ask me why I'm so clean; it's because he hoarded terribly. Today I found old books of his and folders and school papers and cardboard and bags and old clothes and an old report card, of all things...so much stuff that should have been thrown away. So much stuff that ties us down now.
I found myself thinking today of writing a letter of what I want to happen to my stuff, etc. Then I thought that at my age, most people are thinking of engagement rings, or cruises, or babies, or successful careers, and I just got angry at myself.
I have a very short class assignment to do, and I can't do it. I've told myself that I can't go to bed until it's done, but here I am instead. For the first time since I've had to write any sort of composition, I'm blank. "The voice" that I think with, that I write with, is just silent. It can write something like this--albeit not very well--but I can't focus on things two seconds from now, backward or forward. For perspective, the media is all for the new Doctor Who that's going to be next weekend, and I sort of just skim it. Shouldn't I be excited? But, it's sort of like "oh. Yeah. I'll watch that at some point. I should be throwing things away instead." I don't think I'll be able to process it.
Everyone tells me I'm under so much stress, it's completely understandable that I can't focus. So it seems to me that I can't understand why I can't focus because I'm under so much stress. That has a certain, circular feel to it.
I guess this is normal when you spend your week off going through your father's things and throwing them away. People ask me why I'm so clean; it's because he hoarded terribly. Today I found old books of his and folders and school papers and cardboard and bags and old clothes and an old report card, of all things...so much stuff that should have been thrown away. So much stuff that ties us down now.
I found myself thinking today of writing a letter of what I want to happen to my stuff, etc. Then I thought that at my age, most people are thinking of engagement rings, or cruises, or babies, or successful careers, and I just got angry at myself.
I have a very short class assignment to do, and I can't do it. I've told myself that I can't go to bed until it's done, but here I am instead. For the first time since I've had to write any sort of composition, I'm blank. "The voice" that I think with, that I write with, is just silent. It can write something like this--albeit not very well--but I can't focus on things two seconds from now, backward or forward. For perspective, the media is all for the new Doctor Who that's going to be next weekend, and I sort of just skim it. Shouldn't I be excited? But, it's sort of like "oh. Yeah. I'll watch that at some point. I should be throwing things away instead." I don't think I'll be able to process it.
Everyone tells me I'm under so much stress, it's completely understandable that I can't focus. So it seems to me that I can't understand why I can't focus because I'm under so much stress. That has a certain, circular feel to it.