March 16, 2011 Comments Off on The Dumps
I am disjointed and depressed. It doesn’t help that the world seems to be throwing a fit: earthquakes, protests, anger, all as per usual, only more so. And don’t give me that line about how at least spring is coming and everything will be so lovely and green soon. Spring means mud and slush; I lost an hour this weekend (to my lasting derangement), and besides I like winter and snow and cloudy days, so go to hell. I am mostly depressed for two reasons: JOB and APARTMENT.
JOB: I have no job. I’m sort of half-heartedly trying to find one, but I’m not sure what I want to do, and in the meantime I have a hard time settling for, say, waitressing. The process of looking for work just crushes my soul: I don’t bother to apply unless I kind of like the job, and then there’s the hassle of writing a cover letter and touching up the resumé, and maybe following up with a phone call. (Incidentally, Satan is already planning my personal hell, in the event that I turn out to be a totally evil person, and he has notified me that it consists entirely of being forced to make follow-up phone calls.) Then no one ever gets back to me, or they respond with a terse rejection email that just breaks my heart, even if it was a semi-lame job that I didn’t care all that much about. When I graduated, I thought, this will be good because I will work hard at translating, writing music, and writing novels, and that will be my occupation until I find one that pays me. But my creative juices have been stoppered on every front, and I think I might blow up like Mt St Helens and lose part of my head for good if this goes on much longer. It’s much more of a problem to have writer’s block when you feel like you’re not doing the only job you have to do, instead of just hitting a stumbling block on a hobby.
APARTMENT: My apartment is a mess. There are clothes strewn everywhere, all dirty because I can’t remember the last time I did laundry. The dirty dishes are piled in the sink and on the counter and a couple of them are starting to smell. The cat demolished a blue yarn ball and the detritus is everywhere. I need to vacuum and I need to dust and I need to water the plants and pick stuff up off the floor and put the recycling away and in the meantime the litter we’ve been using is perfect except it does absolutely nothing to cover up the smell, and I am continually choking on eau de cat poop. And motivation to do anything at all about any of this is completely lacking, because I am depressed. I am depressed and so I don’t clean, and then I get depressed because the apartment is messy, and then I clean less, and then I get more depressed, and so on. Plus I spend all my time in this stupid apartment with a needy cat and I’m going stir-crazy but I’m not the kind of person who likes to go places to do things—Rachael apparently does very well going out to coffee shops, but between having no money and having a horror of people, that doesn’t really work for me. I have always loved being home, being surrounded by my things, and obeying the inscrutable exhortations of my soul. Now that my apartment has become a place I don’t want to be, I have no idea how to handle it.
On top of all this, I have been sleeping badly, eating badly, gaining a ton of weight and not keeping to the HHA schedule, and I’m stressed about the Cooperstown interview and about New Zealand because I have not been diligently reading the guidebook. Plus my period is about to start. Good times all around.