It’s been a week. I was sick then Joe was sick. I feel out of it, tired, unmotivated. A friend had a bit of an emergency so I took on more work (and didn’t go to class). I missed an event I was supposed to go to. I have been easily enraged.
Next week is reading week and I’m worried that I’m going to continue this pattern of sitting in the office not really getting anything done, and ending up on the other side of reading week with too much on my plate.
Last year I had not-quite-pneumonia and ever since my asthma has been flaring up almost daily, robbing me of the ability to take a deep breath. I blow my nose constantly and now I have a super-fun cough. I’m tired of being cold. I’m tired of feeling controlled by the weather – how long it takes me to get somewhere, how long I can spend outside. I’m tired of feeling not great. I’m constantly worried or stressed out about something.
I’m tired of useless debates with unreasonable people and unhelpful remarks from stupid people.
All of this combines to tell me that something is wrong. Maybe it’s the season, maybe it’s my chemistry.
I’m not going through the usual signs of my depression. In fact it might feel better to cry but I can’t seem to. Instead I get angry and frustrated.
I’m going to school, checking on my grad school application, doing my course work and trying to get things completed, but I also spend time wondering if I can make it through another year. If it will all be worth it in the end. I wonder if I will ever been as good a fit for any job as the job that I left behind. I wonder if I will ever believe as much in anything as I did in Jack Layton.
I spend my time thinking about the things I could or should be doing while I could be actually doing things.
I feel so passionately about some things, but I’m at a point when I feel as though I’m not helping to make progress on any of them, I’m just talking about them. And I don’t know what to do with that.
I’m lost and I feel stuck here.