Status Update
Just figured it would be nice to post something that's *not* whinging, for a change.
These days I'm crazy busy, although it doesn't seem right to say 'busy' when I don't have a 9-to-5 job. I've long felt that those who work 9 to 5 are the only people who have the right to call themselves busy, and hardworking, too. I mean, yeah, I have a script to revise and translate the edits, and they want it by deadline, but I spent about 6 hours straight working on it yesterday in a cafe, having coffee (which I nearly misspelled foccee) and petting the cafe cat, and generally having a good time. And I have 3 more things to revise, academic papers, for cash, and then supposedly meeting someone to do theatre costumes. Only it doesn't feel like work unless someone drags me out of bed at an ungodly hour. I don't know if this makes any sense.
I guess I'm just feeling better these days. After a deep depression last week, I got up the energy to change all the burnt-out lightbulbs in the kitchen and the laundry room. Then I got a cut-off switch for the washing machine, which I hadn't been able to use because it gave me electric shocks - not terrible, more like static than anything else, but still, it was making me not do laundry or indeed go anywhere near the machine - and have done two loads since yesterday.
Also reading a lot about Feng Shui - not the mumbo-jumbo kind with the crystals, but more sensible stuff about how space affects our survival instincts and why we prefer to sit in restaurants with our backs to the wall and a good view of the whole place. What I like about feng shui is that it helps me focus on the immediately accessible things I *can* change - fix my living situation - and which aren't too stressful to work on, as a sort of step towards giving myself more oomph, a bit more energy to change harder things.
One of the things I noticed, when clearing the house of some old clutter, is that a significant part of our pantry is taken up by things of my housemate's, things I'd bet money he'll never use again. So part of the feng shui thing says to think about stuff that's in your house and why it's there and what it could mean, and the contemplation of my housemate's clutter kind of brought home to me that - while he's very helpful and fixes my car and so forth - he's severely depressed, and living with him is not doing my mood any favours, probably.
And finally, why can't I be more like my mom? She says "Don't drive me to the doctor's", and she *means* "Don't drive me to the doctor's." Me, I say "Don't drive me to the doctor's" and seethe with resentment that I have to take a cab when I'm sick. Kind of "The bulb burned out. Don't worry about me, don't change the lightbulb, I'll just sit here in the dark going blind." Just now I called her after she had some dental work. I asked how she was feeling, and she said, "I'm fine. I'm really fine." And she *really meant she was fine and not to worry!* Me, I'd say it, but I'd want people to worry about my health and coddle me. She *really wants* me to not worry and enjoy myself and have a good time. And I can't fucking manage to be that person, and I WANT to! I want to be like that. Instead, I'm more like my dad, who's a whiner/attention-grabber. God, I HATE me sometimes. I do try. I don't know how to. I tend to cling. God, isn't that a disgusting word? Clinnnnnnng. The very sound of it sounds clingy. Which is funny, because I love it in fiction, and think it's delicious and adorable, but I hate being it.
These days I'm crazy busy, although it doesn't seem right to say 'busy' when I don't have a 9-to-5 job. I've long felt that those who work 9 to 5 are the only people who have the right to call themselves busy, and hardworking, too. I mean, yeah, I have a script to revise and translate the edits, and they want it by deadline, but I spent about 6 hours straight working on it yesterday in a cafe, having coffee (which I nearly misspelled foccee) and petting the cafe cat, and generally having a good time. And I have 3 more things to revise, academic papers, for cash, and then supposedly meeting someone to do theatre costumes. Only it doesn't feel like work unless someone drags me out of bed at an ungodly hour. I don't know if this makes any sense.
I guess I'm just feeling better these days. After a deep depression last week, I got up the energy to change all the burnt-out lightbulbs in the kitchen and the laundry room. Then I got a cut-off switch for the washing machine, which I hadn't been able to use because it gave me electric shocks - not terrible, more like static than anything else, but still, it was making me not do laundry or indeed go anywhere near the machine - and have done two loads since yesterday.
Also reading a lot about Feng Shui - not the mumbo-jumbo kind with the crystals, but more sensible stuff about how space affects our survival instincts and why we prefer to sit in restaurants with our backs to the wall and a good view of the whole place. What I like about feng shui is that it helps me focus on the immediately accessible things I *can* change - fix my living situation - and which aren't too stressful to work on, as a sort of step towards giving myself more oomph, a bit more energy to change harder things.
One of the things I noticed, when clearing the house of some old clutter, is that a significant part of our pantry is taken up by things of my housemate's, things I'd bet money he'll never use again. So part of the feng shui thing says to think about stuff that's in your house and why it's there and what it could mean, and the contemplation of my housemate's clutter kind of brought home to me that - while he's very helpful and fixes my car and so forth - he's severely depressed, and living with him is not doing my mood any favours, probably.
And finally, why can't I be more like my mom? She says "Don't drive me to the doctor's", and she *means* "Don't drive me to the doctor's." Me, I say "Don't drive me to the doctor's" and seethe with resentment that I have to take a cab when I'm sick. Kind of "The bulb burned out. Don't worry about me, don't change the lightbulb, I'll just sit here in the dark going blind." Just now I called her after she had some dental work. I asked how she was feeling, and she said, "I'm fine. I'm really fine." And she *really meant she was fine and not to worry!* Me, I'd say it, but I'd want people to worry about my health and coddle me. She *really wants* me to not worry and enjoy myself and have a good time. And I can't fucking manage to be that person, and I WANT to! I want to be like that. Instead, I'm more like my dad, who's a whiner/attention-grabber. God, I HATE me sometimes. I do try. I don't know how to. I tend to cling. God, isn't that a disgusting word? Clinnnnnnng. The very sound of it sounds clingy. Which is funny, because I love it in fiction, and think it's delicious and adorable, but I hate being it.