Why am I so frelling tired?
Feb. 4th, 2003 07:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
letterbladeLast year's field work term was relaxing and invigorating. This one is frustrating and exhausting, for a vast array of reasons that I don't feel like going fully in to. I feel like I have no time, no time at all, and in a way it's true. I sat down at my computer five minutes ago, looked at the clock, and realized that, unless I want to bite into my sleep again (and I'm already spacey-sleepy from being up 'til one this morning, and I can't sleep at work every day), I have about two and a half hours to bitch at the FA uploaders, practice Rachmaninoff, appease parentals, start ripping CDs, deal with whatever bunnies attempt to eat me, clean out my purse, shower, finish my present for DarkRose, poke LoS 2 if possible, and do the only relaxing I get to do during the day. And that's my average day, except on weekends, when I wind up doing nothing because I get to relax for once.
And before Feb. 22cd, I have to rip twenty zillion CDs, sort through 20 zillion books, sort through all my clothes, attempt to get my piano playing back in shape, cross-reference and study and prepare my method books for teaching piano next term, get the rest of my 240 hours in at Mobius, and not die.
And that's not counting the stuff I want to do, desperately want to do, except I'm constantly exhausted or squeezing in creative time measured in mere couples of hours: my LJ layout, Cedar's LJ layout, revision of the DMVs when I get them back from Dest, LoS, Within These Pages, Remus/Percy, The Charman's Riddle, correspondance, friends, and preparing to do steady work for credit on my original novel come the spring term. Which is too damn close.
Cannot cope. Off to Mordor.
Too damn close.
I would be perfectly happy to crawl off into a hole somewhere with an internet connection and write for the next, oh, four months straight. I hate being semi-independent and having to do all this, and I hate even more the prospect of having to actually make a living in a few years, because I'm never going to be able to do it. I want to be free not monetarily, not in terms of living away from home, but with my soul, and it's never going to happen. Stupid capitalists.
My life and I are running a race, and I'm twenty miles behind with a broken ankle. I've even had trouble breathing recently. Surprise, surprise.
It feels strange to be nineteen and to not want to travel in the slightest, not want to meet new people or try new things. Friends, freedom, Finland, the way I used to enjoy hopping on a train and traipsing around the city for a carefree day, all of that is far more distant than the prospect of being able to feed myself once I get out of college.
I almost want to talk to my mother.
DarkRose--may or may not get it done tonight. If you get a raincheck by midnight, it's because I've had a nervous breakdown. But it'll probably pass in an hour or two and then I'll feel like a big idiot.
And before Feb. 22cd, I have to rip twenty zillion CDs, sort through 20 zillion books, sort through all my clothes, attempt to get my piano playing back in shape, cross-reference and study and prepare my method books for teaching piano next term, get the rest of my 240 hours in at Mobius, and not die.
And that's not counting the stuff I want to do, desperately want to do, except I'm constantly exhausted or squeezing in creative time measured in mere couples of hours: my LJ layout, Cedar's LJ layout, revision of the DMVs when I get them back from Dest, LoS, Within These Pages, Remus/Percy, The Charman's Riddle, correspondance, friends, and preparing to do steady work for credit on my original novel come the spring term. Which is too damn close.
Cannot cope. Off to Mordor.
Too damn close.
I would be perfectly happy to crawl off into a hole somewhere with an internet connection and write for the next, oh, four months straight. I hate being semi-independent and having to do all this, and I hate even more the prospect of having to actually make a living in a few years, because I'm never going to be able to do it. I want to be free not monetarily, not in terms of living away from home, but with my soul, and it's never going to happen. Stupid capitalists.
My life and I are running a race, and I'm twenty miles behind with a broken ankle. I've even had trouble breathing recently. Surprise, surprise.
It feels strange to be nineteen and to not want to travel in the slightest, not want to meet new people or try new things. Friends, freedom, Finland, the way I used to enjoy hopping on a train and traipsing around the city for a carefree day, all of that is far more distant than the prospect of being able to feed myself once I get out of college.
I almost want to talk to my mother.
DarkRose--may or may not get it done tonight. If you get a raincheck by midnight, it's because I've had a nervous breakdown. But it'll probably pass in an hour or two and then I'll feel like a big idiot.
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*hugs*
Date: Feb. 4th, 2003 06:23 pm (UTC)