So after a very stressful week with a heart-pounding event I did manage to live through, I ended up having a lovely weekend. We decided that Saturday would be our celebration day because Sunday I just had to devote to grading (because I am so behind because I am sick and unable to do as much as I normally do, a slower grader than usual, and had to devote most of my attention to aforementioned heart-pounding event). Things felt really awful and claustrophobic there for a while, but then yesterday I focused on getting enough sleep, gardening, going out to a scrumptious meal we then got eat for leftovers tonight, and watched a much-beloved movie about sticking it to the man.
Even grading today and fighting my own tendency to think about the truly awful things going on in my department, I managed to have a good day. Last week, you understand, every day I came home I felt completely terrible and worn out. I've been wondering if teaching isn't just too stressful -- too full of adrenal surges -- for me. And then, I find it almost impossible to teach and then grade. I just don't know how people do it. I need a day of no teaching to grade, and this quarter, I teach four days a week. I refuse to work every day, so that's one day down. (I need that. If I hadn't taken yesterday 100% off to the point of not checking email, I wouldn't be okay today, I'm sure. I need to completely re-center. I wish I could be more centered during the week though!)
Anyway, I feel more centered in my own life. I think this was helped, ironically, by our cat going missing for a day and a half. We were all worried, and worrying that I was going to find his remains at the intersection down the road helped put things in perspective. (He's back. He's fine.) I wish I didn't think of my hellish department, with the Devil Chair and his Puppet Master, and the arguments I have to make very soon in order to get what I deserve right when I wake up. That would be nice. I hate the whole free rent in my head thing. Forget it.
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Friday, May 5, 2017
Poetry Update and Spirit Sickness
So I think Poetry Month was a resounding success. While I didn't write a poem or a "poem" daily, I did think or work on something related to poetry every day in April and reaffirmed a commitment to it by the end to where I'm feeling more energized about it.
Unfortunately, that is just about the only thing I'm jazzed about, the only thing I want to do at all, except when I'm home and maybe gardening. It was a hard week. I have big stacks of grading that haven't gotten done because when I go home, I'm exhausted. I can't pull a whole other shift of grading. I need to rest. Not that I go home and rest because we also have a home life. Just getting through the day is difficult enough. When I'm done for the day, I just want to lay my head down and go to sleep, not drive home and then pay attention and be active in home life. I'm exhausted. I really just want to go to bed for a day. I dream about going to a hotel for a week and being left alone and sleeping an awful lot and eating nice room service and reading books. An alternative to that might be an in-patient situation but I doubt it because I think the mentally ill typically don't receive quality treatment in this country, made all the more plain by today's dreadful vote for a "healthcare" bill that disenfranchises a number of people in my family because of pre-existing conditions, myself included (for multiple). It's bullshit. But I digress.
I hate being sick, and I don't like being in my own head when I'm sick and hate myself like this, and I hate worrying others because I don't have a brain in my head. I dream about going on short-term disability, but I won't. But I'd like to. Some days I feel good, like the medication is working, and I'm on the mend. Other days I'm an idiot and my thinking is messed up or I forget something I am supposed to be responsible for -- in short, I fuck up in some way that feels epic. I can't trust myself (not like I'm going to hurt myself or others, but like I'm just stupid and don't look around or think things through, like some part of me is just not there and that's true because I'm medicated right now and being medicated is not quite being your regular self), and that's really uncomfortable. That's when you'd like to be able to stay in a nice safe space, like your home, preferably your bed. I often think the real cure for me is to stay under the covers until I get good and sick of it and come out of my own accord. But that is the problem of modern life; we can't do what we need to for our spirit. And that's what depression is, or at least my depression is: spirit sickness. This depression is a big giant wakeup call, the one ironically I thought I wanted when I was listless and trying to figure out what I should do with myself: you can't keep doing what you're doing. We must make a change. If only knowing that you're doing good in the world were enough to make you happy. Damn.
Unfortunately, that is just about the only thing I'm jazzed about, the only thing I want to do at all, except when I'm home and maybe gardening. It was a hard week. I have big stacks of grading that haven't gotten done because when I go home, I'm exhausted. I can't pull a whole other shift of grading. I need to rest. Not that I go home and rest because we also have a home life. Just getting through the day is difficult enough. When I'm done for the day, I just want to lay my head down and go to sleep, not drive home and then pay attention and be active in home life. I'm exhausted. I really just want to go to bed for a day. I dream about going to a hotel for a week and being left alone and sleeping an awful lot and eating nice room service and reading books. An alternative to that might be an in-patient situation but I doubt it because I think the mentally ill typically don't receive quality treatment in this country, made all the more plain by today's dreadful vote for a "healthcare" bill that disenfranchises a number of people in my family because of pre-existing conditions, myself included (for multiple). It's bullshit. But I digress.
I hate being sick, and I don't like being in my own head when I'm sick and hate myself like this, and I hate worrying others because I don't have a brain in my head. I dream about going on short-term disability, but I won't. But I'd like to. Some days I feel good, like the medication is working, and I'm on the mend. Other days I'm an idiot and my thinking is messed up or I forget something I am supposed to be responsible for -- in short, I fuck up in some way that feels epic. I can't trust myself (not like I'm going to hurt myself or others, but like I'm just stupid and don't look around or think things through, like some part of me is just not there and that's true because I'm medicated right now and being medicated is not quite being your regular self), and that's really uncomfortable. That's when you'd like to be able to stay in a nice safe space, like your home, preferably your bed. I often think the real cure for me is to stay under the covers until I get good and sick of it and come out of my own accord. But that is the problem of modern life; we can't do what we need to for our spirit. And that's what depression is, or at least my depression is: spirit sickness. This depression is a big giant wakeup call, the one ironically I thought I wanted when I was listless and trying to figure out what I should do with myself: you can't keep doing what you're doing. We must make a change. If only knowing that you're doing good in the world were enough to make you happy. Damn.
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