I'm having a "down day," as we call it in the Sweet Family. I had a lot of these in the autumn of 2005, and then after I defended the GD thesis, I felt a lot better. The stress of couch-hopping, living out of a suitcase/backpack, and preparing for the defence, amongst other stuff, was mostly alleviated with my flight from Hamilton. Then a new, different stress set in. The joblessness. The ongoing homelessness and feeling that I'm freeloading.
I'm sitting, staring at the computer monitor, trying to write a cover letter for the first time in, oh, three weeks, and I'm teedering on the threshhold of having a little freak-out. It's like I'm experiencing a slight sensory overload and all the fuses in my brain are on the brink of shutting down. I want a Malibou and Coke (a big Malibou and Coke), and to sit in a dark chamber with soothing music.
It's times like these I think about moving to Grand Cayman and finding a job teaching. I want another adventure, but I don't know if I can muster the energy anymore. I can't believe it's been over 6 years since I moved to England. Shit. I feel older. I am older, but on days like this, it's especially there.
Well, the upshot is: This Could Be So Much Worse. I am feeling sorry for myself, something which I suppose everyone is entitled from time to time, but my practical side is telling me that I'm ok. My family is well, I'm loved, healthy, and a good little dancer (one of these is not true - guess which one!). This is just a slight chemical or hormonal spike. Remember the theme of Magnolia? It's that we all have love to give. I think I might be backed up, though, without the proper outlets. I'm love constipated.