Today, there isn't anything pissing me off, for a wonder. Not that there aren't things happening that would normally piss me off. I'm simply too tired to give a fart.
For those that don't know me personally, I'm a college student. This semester, I'm also a part time lab assistant. I'm a professional journalist working part time, a full time husband, and a volunteer board member for a local BDSM group. I get four to five hours of sleep a night, the homework is backing up, the housework is glaring at me like a hall monitor that's caught you without a pass, and we just finally got our fuzzy child home a month after moving into the new apartment. She's an old little girl, and takes a bit of caring for.
My sister-in-law is currently in legal proceedings that I will not discuss, beyond saying that she's in no trouble and I have to drive up to the Oklahoma panhandle at least once a month. This month, it'll be twice due to the comedy of errors.
As recently noted, I've lost one of my anchors in life. I'm switching degree tracks after I finish my associates this semester. My husband and I are adjusting to living on completely our own for the first time in our relationship, and while it's wonderful it is an adjustment.
What? A point? Right, I had one somewhere.
I have no clue what I'm doing anymore. I write to write because writing helps me think. I write erotic work to keep the creativity flowing, I write near dadaist fiction filled with non-sequiturs because that's how my mind works. I write news because I'm paid to.
I haven't painted anything in over a year, haven't composed anything in two. I haven't been out in a dress in…dang, two, almost three years. That last is going to be rectified on Hallowe'en, but still.
My degree is nearly useless in my field, and my field is changing so much I have to go get a different degree because I no longer recognize my first love. I don't want to be in this anymore, but the English track I'll be switching to feels…well, like change. I've been working towards this for three years, and at the end of this semester, not so much anymore.
I'm so tired of being tired. I'm tired of fighting all you fuckers that have stories because you're afraid I'm out to get you. I'm grateful to those who work with me, but more often than not news sources run screaming from the mere suggestion of an interview.
I'm tired of homework, tired of class work, tired of spending hours and hours of my week listening and taking notes, only to panic and fight to get everything in on deadline and keep my grades up. I love my professors, don't get me wrong, but it's been a while since I've taken a day just to have a day, talked to a professor for the joy of talking, without a need for information or one eye on the clock.
For those that know me really well, let me reassure you: no this is not a lead-in to a hemp fandango, or anything similar. I got over that years ago, and I'd have led with that if it was the problem.
No, I look forward and I see a future there. I see my husband, and any boyfriends we may have, and babies, and publishing at least a little of my work, and all my zany family (both chosen and blood) hanging out as best they can.
I just haven't the foggiest idea how to get there anymore. But damn it if i'm not going to keep grinding on.
Because my point here is this: I may not know where I'm going or how I'm going to get there. I may be headed down in a hand-basket at warp 6. But I can't stop moving. I'm exhausted, and feel like beaten bird crap, and my mind is filled with mothballs, but I'm still going.
I'm damn well not going to stop. Ever. Sleep when you're dead, and maybe not even then. So for anyone out there that's looking at me and going, "slow down. You're so tired, you need a break, you need to take care of yourself."
Nope, slowing down is never going to happen.
I may be tired, but I'm still going. Being tired just means I have to watch more carefully that I don't hit the guard rails on life's highway.
I've taken breaks, and nearly gone mad. For me, it's better to run in the dark and pray I get somewhere good than wait for the dawn, and try to make up lost time.
My body is a rental. I've got maybe 60-80 years in it, and then it's repossessed. I'm going to get as much mileage out of it as possible. I've maintain it as I go the best I can, but if it can't keep up, that's a design flaw. And since the only time I'll get to take that up with the manufacturer is after the repossession, I'm not overly worried about it.
I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I'm not Superman. I have no idea where I'm going, but I'm making marvelous time getting there.
And I'm not stopping, slowing down, deviating, or flinching. I'll catch a nap if I have to and come back roaring.
So for everyone in my life: this acceleration? The way I've been moving faster and faster, getting more and more exhausted? That's the ramp on the rollercoaster. We're going to go a hell of a lot faster before we're done. Try and keep up.
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