None of it is mattering again.
Not the hugs or the explosive realization that Jenn-with-two-N's from Vancouver really is a staggeringly wonderful as I've remembered her in my head, not the hug-filled half hour with kaff trying on pants that she's making for me, not the Cult show at Musiqueplus with David in tow on crutches, maybe the momentary solace in a Kilkenny before it landed in cf's sister's lap at McKibbins on Friday.
It was all good, all lovely, all hug filled and grin filled and doing groceries for crtuchboy and maybe it's the weather or I'm PMSing a couple of days early but
Holy fuck am I ever depressed.
I need a good book, a burst of sunshine, I need the white water rafting trip next weekend to happen or I'm going to lose my mind.
I need to go back to school, I need to write a book, I need to SNAP OUT OF THIS FEELING that I'm twenty four years old and a failure for not having gone to medical school.
I don't know where it came from but three hours in the hospital glaring at doctors that are uncomfortable around broken bones and open sores and it hit me in the nape of my neck and has been aching since.
I am brimming with potential.
I've always hated that word and its loaded traps and brainaches and machinations.
I spent three hours of that potential watching television last week.
Two hours in a movie theatre, extra hours here and there just sleeping in until nine in the morning.
I spent time playing FREECELL for fuck's sake, spent so much of my precious time laying waste to moments that I've bemoaned the lack of.
Fuck.
Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts maybe I am pmsing. I'm angry. I'm blaming americans. I'm blaming everything, I'm staring in disgust at the lazy sack of vitriol hiding in my clothing and my hair is trying to leave me in every direction, I'm so scattered.
So much to do so much to do can't focus can't focus.
Want to go back to school, can't, can't, the logistics are impossible. Want to learn martial arts, no time to dedicate, no time. A motorcycle license? That one might happen but what about...
I haven't learned anything in so long that I turned on David yesterday, picking at him, believing momentarily that this man who has given me devotion, love, soft hands and hard shoulders is somehow holding me back, holding back the development of a brain that I am terrified is atrophying.
I know it's not him. I'm not dating him to make myself smarter. I can't expect motivation from someone else, unless they've agreed to share my goals with me.
I'm just angry. Furious with myself for allowing that four-second-twinge of "maybe I'll just go later tonight" keeping me from hurling my frustrations at a four hundred pound leg press at the gym.
I need to pick something, it was all so clear six months ago. First I would abandon it all for work, then when that was under control I'd start with martial arts and move on to ballroom dancing, writing, travel, mathematics, maybe even school.
But work needs school and school needs other sacrifices and somewhere in there I found cooking together and cuddling on a couch and somewhere in there I found I found I found I found that I'm lost again
Lost in my head again
I can't even catalogue it anymore, this mess in my head, the confusion of too much potential, too much going for me, too many possibilities.
Look at me, I'm complaining I got it too good.
Look at me, I'm wishing for a shoulder-to-the-grindstone blue-collar job like that first warehouse when I was fifteen...
I'm wishing for filthy jokes and filthy coworkers and after-work beers and luxury being limitied to a choice of rented videos.
I'm wishing for someone to tell me what to do. I'm wishing for fireworks pointing in the right direction.
It would appear that I am being childish again, and at least I'm still sober enough to remember that that isn't going to get anything done at all.
So. Today's agenda is going to be, drown in work, go shopping for white water rafting shoes, and curl up with a science fiction book tonight.
I need the rest, and I need the inspiration.
And then I will begin something, at least.
~