Yesterday was such a horrific and draining day that I couldn’t stomach the thought of going to work today. So I didn’t. Monday night had ended in a bit of unpleasantness. I was in a foul mood from the start yesterday, and nothing went my way at work. Really, I’m burned out anyway. Things haven’t improved. Next conversion is a little more than a month away. I know things are going to change; I don’t know how because there has been zero communication on that front. I’m trying to recharge today. So far that’s meant writing small bits on the mess of a SF story I started about a month ago and cleaning my office, not quite as thoroughly as needed but the floor’s clear(ish). And washing bedding. The smell of stale sweat is not relaxing.
Aside from my own work drama (or rather lack of work drama as there’s been no news to get dramatic about), husband’s work drama and the usual bullshit of depression, my grandfather’s birthday is Friday. He would have been 85. I didn’t realize it would be so hard. I knew I would think about him. I think about him almost every day anyway, but somehow the occasion makes it worse. I get tears in my eyes for no real reason. Like now for instance. Missing someone sucks. Especially when you can’t ever see that person again. Maybe I need to cry. I don’t think crying will do anything but make me feel worse. It’s not like grief is contained in tears and will leave my body if I cry. I don’t know. Would I want to lose the sadness if I could? Right now, that’s all I have left of my grandfather. I’m keeping it.
I’m very thin skinned in general right now. I also haven’t been writing very much and have spent way too much time thinking. I think about work, dreams, the kind of life I was supposed to be living, the kind of life I am living, what a horrible stupid untalented human being I am, how all my stories are stupid and aren’t worth the time to write, how I should just quit anything and everything that supposedly resembles making art, how that nagging desire to go to grad school is bullshit and so on and on. I get very fucking sick of listening to myself, and yet, there is no part of my brain that pipes up to argue or even just tell the other part to shut the hell up.
I know I need to make some effort to do something to get myself feeling better. I know it has to come from me. I’m just not good at digging myself out of this kind of hole. I think next week will be better. At least I hope it will be.