18 September 2013
I’m sorry for not properly writing for a few days. I feel behind in everything. I still haven’t taken the ModPo quizzes for last week or finished off the Whitman lectures. Is it too late (for the quizzes I mean)? And I want to stay on track. I want to write the essay this weekend. I’m also addicted to The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas, and I’m trying to finish some library books that should go back on Friday. There’s a call for more hours at work. We’re getting a new roommate today. All of these things sound like excuses, which isn’t what I meant to have happen.
I wanted to say:
I like how things shine, even through the dirt and grit. I could examine the pattern of fabric for hours. I like stairs, even when they feel like hard work. I am keeping my empty mailbox company. I’ve applied for more pen pals, even though I have amazing ones, even though I write so many letters, even though I am always afraid it makes my friends feel replaced. I’ve always wondered what that says about me: that my friends feel jealous of each other sometimes? I try to give everyone their own time and space, when I really wish I could just live with them all in one house (or maybe a whole street) for always. I’ve looked at the Edinburgh Skills Swap online community and am trying to quantify my skills. Sometimes it’s easy to know what you want, and harder to know what you have. I’m trying not to take things for granted. I’m trying not to try so hard. I like laughing, but I’m so tired so often. I read this morning that a day which is 55% “feeling better” is a great place to start.
I wish there were more hours. There is so much I want to do.
What do you do when time feels this way? Andrew says to make lists. But then I make many lists, and they multiply.