updates from mediocre land

 I went off journaling for a few days (well, a few weeks), and it's hard to jump back into it when you have feelings you don't particularly want to look at. I've been feeling deeply mediocre -- well, largely that's just physical: I had some sort of virus helpfully providing muscle fatigue; it's dark outside and darker inside in my stupid basement room; I think I've gone and developed a caffeine addiction again (not as bad as was once the case -- we're talking 1-2 servings of coffee or pop a day, which is most likely in the 60-300 mg range; but it's still not great); and then there's the whole cycling-while-cold thing. 

 

(I need -- I ought -- all of those words you're not supposed to use -- I think that my knees might hurt less if I made a point of wearing another layer under my pants, either tights or leggings. But then I have to moisturize my dry, disgusting skin so the extra layer isn't too irritating, and the self-care just goes on and on and on. Ugh.)

 

I've been having headaches, but my headaches are always just manifestations of "sleep more and drink more water, you craphead." The appropriate amount of both for my current self is probably about 10 hours and a gallon a day; I'm very thirsty and very anxious.

 

As I'm writing this, I'm dodging back and forth, running out the side door to the basement -- my room opens onto the bike/erstwhile laundry room, which has five steps up to the sidewalk that wraps around the side of the house -- to the tiny warm laundromat two blocks down the street. My laundry load is particularly small this week; I had to put off laundry until last Friday. It snowed at some point last night, so things are, in fact, dusted with white. Soon it will be sludgy, and possible icy, which is why I find snow revolting: but I suppose it's not so bad right at this moment.

 

I don't feel good, and there's a certain low-lying level of emotional pain that keeps resurfacing -- I'm not doing things right, I'm not doing things right, no one would be proud of me, no one would be proud of me -- add to that the fact that some sort of economic downturn is probably coming shortly, and I don't know how secure I am from being laid off at either of my jobs -- and of course, and yet: I still had a sort of blank moment of surprise out on the sidewalk. I would rather be here. Of the choices I had available to me, given everything I've done, I would rather be here. 

 

We shall see what contempt the world has in store for me, for having such foolish hopes and heart-dreams! I went to the MFA yesterday and sketched. The sketches were awful, and a security guard was condescending to me, but I have vague hopes of developing a weekly routine where I Go A Place And Do A Thing. 

 

(I feel like fear is going to shake me to pieces, sometimes! I have not been listening to any news podcasts for A FULL THREE MONTHS, because I do not feel capable.)