Home early today due to sick. Napped. I like naps. Would like them better if my brain would shut the hell up.
I’m tired of masks. I sprawl in bed and watch the shadows the traffic makes on the ceiling wishing I could just bare my self. (I thought I had done a little of that already, you see I lost some of my mousiness when I moved away from home for the first time. I can approach total strangers and have a conversation with them and not be nervous or embarrassed – but that is really not the same thing. That’s confidence – which is in itself a kind of mask.) Baring my self is not giving it away… though perhaps that is what I am wary of? Losing myself? I have done that before and it was very, oh so very hard to find again – in fact I may not have found all the pieces as yet. That makes me nervous. How do I know that who you know is the real me? What if the real me a month from now is totally different than the me I am now? You might call that a bit of an identity crisis. Perhaps this is what I mean by “too much”.
The act of breathing when I think like this can feel like too much.
That kind of too much on top of the rest, the everyday things. You know the things required of me to make my life work: working to make money, paying the bills, balancing what comes in with what goes out, having conversations with people and making sense, getting employees to do things as required, maintaining relationships, not freaking out when something goes wrong (I hide behind optimism sometimes because it is the only way I can cope with some things.)
And then there are those things I feel I am “expected” to do and/or be. For instance: I was expected to take the promotion at work and some part of me took it also because of guilty feelings which is a bunch of crap because I doubt anyone at HO would have cared two shits whether I wanted the spot or not. I didn’t owe them anything in that respect so where did the guilt come from? Now I can’t wait to get out of it. Yes, the pay is good, but I was never one to take a job just because of the money. *Cough* those words did not taste good.
So when people ask me what I’m doing next, the answer that pops out is always “school”. It comes out because a) it sounds good and b) I fucking miss it. I miss school. I miss everything about it, even the deadlines and exams and bureaucracy. I thought for a time I wanted to be a teacher, but discovered in the course of a few classes that it was less the atmosphere that I loved and more the opportunity to ask questions and develop with a group of like-minded individuals. To discuss and debate – things I do not get the opportunity to do at work or at home. (This is part of the reason I love my friends the way I do and why I miss them so freaking much.) So. What then is the appeal of the MLIS? In a way it combines the two things I love most: books and knowledge/learning. I would not, admittedly, have a ton of spare time to root around in random archives just drinking in the information, but perhaps is as good a place as any to satisfy my lust for brain-fodder. Or perhaps a bookstore. Or… or!
listening to: Nomads – Synaesthesia
reading:Self-Reliance – Ralph Waldo Emerson
eating: there is no spoon!
drinking: tea! with lemon!
feeling: crampy, bloated, feverish, sore throat, confused and strangely languid.
headspace: inside a giant ball of wool