I'm friggin tired. I've been tired all day. I bled from my nose for several hours. My #2 is iffy at best, explosive at worst. I have the donkey cough. I've barely been able to eat. I'm out of miiiiiiilk gah! I'm still awake because I am a.) unable to sleep and b.) waiting for my crops to mature for harvest. DONT JUDGE ME! I joined a co-op and I wold feel like an asshole if I didn't at least try...
My knitting will never get done. I finally got to 73 on weatherfield. I read all of "The Absolutely True Diary of a part-time Indian" today in about an hour or so. I wanted to cry when i was done. I actually got some research done, but of course it's all about Sherman Alexie. Surely Tim understands that he dominates the field of not just funny Native American literature, but Native American literature in general.
My cats all snore. Andy snores. I don't think I snore, but my nose and throat are so dry lately that it wouldn't surprise me.
I have a week left, then I graduate. Then I have to procure a real job. My annoyance level is rising at an alarming rate. I'm definitely taking it out on the wrong people, because I am too chickenshit to say anything to the right people. I just want to lay low until the 7th and let grad school become a distant "well that was interesting" memory/life lesson.
I don't think I was properly equipped or prepared to go to grad school. Undergrad wasn't difficult even in the slightest for me. Grad school, to be frank, was only difficult because I have shitty organization and prioritizing skills. Not to say that the work wasn't difficult... it kind of was, mostly just because of the quantity. At any rate, about a million things have fallen to the wayside, including my marriage. That's definitely the worst part.
I haven't worn my wedding ring in a week. I'm pretty sure I haven't kissed Andy in just as long, if not longer. I haven't told him I love him in a while either. I'm an asshole; I've been assured of this from outside sources. I have poor prioritizing skills, remember? I should be sleeping, curled up next to him, but I'm an asshole. I'm a selfish jerk. I'm a proud bitch. I'm just a confused 25 year old little girl that can;t get her head on straight. I am a chronic life ruiner.
No, no, I'm not asking for pity. Nor am I asking for more people to assure me of what a dick I am. Trust me, I get that shit daily. I'm just writing stuff down.
Andy asked me a few weeks back what I would ideally do if I could. I immediately responded that I wish I could make a living off of writing. I don't think I am the most well spoken or the most interesting person in the world, but christ if Laura Fuckin Bush can get her shitty book published (and I mean, come on, what the hell is so interesting about her other than her remarkable ability to put up with a moron 5 year old for a husband?), why can't I get anything published?
Because I haven't tried is why.
Without being too dramatic, that really is the story of my life.
I've gotten through this far without stretching myself out too far, without going out on a limb, without taking risks. I'm safe. I know that's not the foremost adjective that comes to mind when someone ponders my being, but in all honesty, I'm a pretty safe gal. I don't do a goddamn thing that makes me uncomfortable (because it's pretty hard to do that), I don't make myself do anything too difficult (I like to say I know my limits), and I definitely don't deliberately make things harder on myself.
Unlike some people I know...
At any rate, I'm fucking tired. I want to try and eat something and keep it down. I'm cold. I can' bring myself to knit anymore tonight, nor write anymore.