Winter doldrums? Blahdefuckingblah. I've been doing absolutely nothing for the past week. Some of it was fun. I've been sleeping an insane amount. I woke up at 9pm last night. Came home. Went to bed at 6am. Woke several times, rolled over, pet my cat, listened to whatever was on NPR, slept, slept, slept. Got up at 7pm. I could have gotten up, kept hearing on the radio what a nice day it was outside, how tomorrow will be cold. Need to clean my room. Need to go to work. Could have gone to the G0 G0l Bord3llo show. Could have, could have... didn't really want to. It is dark and I'm the only one home. Feel sort of nauseous (too much mac n cheeze?).
My head feels dizzy and my body like death. Is there something I needed to say here? Something I wanted to express, that would make me feel better? I can't seem to think of what it was. Maybe it was that my birthday served as a reminder that I don't really like my life that much, and that I don't seem to be able to figure out how to make it better. I do like my friends, and such. I have a lot of good people in my life, at least for that I can be grateful. My cat loves me regardless of the fact that I ditch him for days at a time to be with other mammals I care about. He rolls around and snuggles with me and purrs incessantly and sticks his paws on my face.
Work, work, work. Fuck work. Where to now? What to do with my time? I've decided to take a drinking hiatus, though a beer sounds lovely. I was thinking I'd go til February, with the exception of Pr0hibition. I need some time to think, or even out, or get bored, or something. When did drinking become something to do? C0ry says I just need to practice some moderation...he's right, I agree. But I haven't been practicing moderation, I've been practicing excess. So now a little asceticism to balance things out. I know it was my birthday and all, and there was the fundraiser at the church, and the last r0mp, and etc. But I still think a five day bender is a Bad Thing.
Probably I'm not actually depressed, probably my body and mind are just plain fucking exhausted from the abuse. Christ.
Then there's this whole cruise thing...do I really want to spend 12 days on a goddamn boat? Flights are practically the same price round trip as one way, and I'm sure I'll spend just as much on port taxes and booze as I would on whatever the extra is to just fly in. Then there's the fact that those 12 days are days I could be working or travelling around instead of just floating across the ocean. I don't know. Am I being a dumbass about this? Logically it makes sense, but it feels like I'm copping out. Perhaps is just that I don't see how the fuck I can afford a boat trip plus my other bills plus the art space thingy. I know I can make the money I need to by working enough, but fuck. I don't want to work that much. The only reason I still like my job is because I don't have to be there often. Maybe I should get a corporate job that pays well and then quit when it's time to travel. But I don't want to do that, either.
If you could pay all your bills by working one or two days a week and had no reason to go in other than your own Willpower, would you go in very often?
I wish I had gotten up this afternoon. I woke up to sunshine. I could have gotten up, I'd had enough rest. But someone was fighting in Dan's room (possibly Dan and Liz) and I didn't want to get up to that. Had I gotten up, I would have organized my room already. Perhaps even cleaned the house. I maybe would have biked to a coffee shop or something. Then gone to work on time. My body is so fucking bruised I'm afraid to go to work until it heals some. I suppose I could wear some sleeves or something to cover the vast array of grey black purple and green I have on each arm, and excuse said array on my thigh as being from doing pole tricks...my bloody knuckle is easy enough to ignore, but I want it to scab a little better. God knows what infections I lay myself open to going into work with an open sore on my knuckle.
But still, if I had gotten up I would have cleaned, and maybe developed enough of a will to give a shit that I would have gone to the show. And probably would have had fun, as well. Instead I'm sitting on my bed, typing away a bunch of self indulgent crapola.
There was a point in my life when I had direction. Now I flitter about on the miasma. Shit. Shitty shit-shit. There is more to it than this, goddammit!
I had this really intense dream that I was in the Middle East somewhere, only it was like I was back in Senegal. I was staying with the Fay3s (my first host family there), and Madame Fay3 was serving food on this giant tray. My mom was there, eating on a separate plate, eating grilled chicken breast sliced into perfect inches. I went to look outside and the streets were deserted, the two story crumbling buildings, painted brick red, were covered in a light dusting of snow. I wondered at the familiar decay, and at the unusual weather. I wander around, now I was back in Senegal, trying to speak French but stumbling over my words. I couldn't pronounce anything right or thing of the words I needed. I called P0nge, and I was about to tell him how I was back in Senegal! Then it occured to me how spoiled I was, how I had no right to call him and state that I was back in his home country just for a visit when he hadn't been back there yet...I woke up thinking that I really did need to go back to Senegal, that there lay my answers. Then I thought, no, I need to go back to Chiapas. Or perhaps somewhere differently entirely.
Theoretically, the answers are not anywhere else, they are to be found within. But what if I need something external to stimulate the internal? This is the main reason I still think about going on that cruise. Maybe I'll figure something out. Maybe if I don't think about it like another pointless vacation and instead think about it as Doing Something Useful, I'll stop being so conflicted and doubtful and apathetic about it?
L1zatron's suggestion of ditching our lease and just fucking getting the hell out of here is so appealling, but for some reason I give a shit about having good credit, etc. Maybe I need to drop out before I can figure it out...like I've dropped out partially, but I'm still paying all my bills. And...I'd have to find someone to live here and pay my portion of the rent on the pure basis of not fucking over my roommates.
I'm better than what I've been doing...so what did I do this past year? I did the work I was hired to do at H0M3 L!ne, then I quit. Ponge moved out. I went to Chiapas and never did the presentation I talked about doing. I talked about taking Spanish lessons and didn't. I haven't paid my mom back the money she lent me yet. I found a bunch of kickass roommates and got the house/living situation I've wanted for a long time. I made new friends and new lovers and strengthened friendships that were previously more like acquaintences. I quit drinking for a month and it really wasn't that hard. I cut down on smoking and then cut back up. I drank too much. I went to New Orleans for a week. I lost my cat for a month. I did a lot of reflecting that went nowhere. I cried a lot. I laughed more. I gained an affinity for sushi. I haven't been to the dentist.
This year has really been about relationships, with myself, with other people. I suppose that's acceptable. I suppose I don't have to feel like total shit about a year spent focusing on relationships. I suppose I'm not the only person in history that thought she knew what she was doing and then didn't. Maybe I just have to have some patience. Maybe instead of self flagellation I can practice some self love. And do a better job of accepting the love around me. Maybe it ain't really that big of a deal, and my life is pretty okay and I'll figure things out eventually and I can stop comparing myself to other people and to the person I imagined I would be.
Let it go? It's a process, I can't force it to go any faster, but I can have some patience.