angstful post of angst
Sep. 12th, 2009 05:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sigmastolenI dunno. I've been feeling shitty the past few days. fragile. not very much like a person. I've been tired and solitary and irritable and sad, kind of. completely unable to tackle my to-do list, and I've had the same one since thursday. it's taken me two hours of being awake and pretending i'm not to get out of bed every day, except to feed the kittens because they sit next to my face and cry until I do. And after all that I find that it's just too much goddamn effort to put on my running clothes and move, so I lie around for another hour, struggle through a shower, and curl up in front of the telly or with my computer for breakfast and then lunch. I can barely get myself out of the door in time to get to work within ten minutes of when I was supposed to clock in, and then I usually don't even fucking do anything for the four hours that I do work, besides fuck around on the internet and help the occasional patron.
-----
Just now:
Flatmate: *holds up a plastic container that formerly held plums* Are these recyclable, do you know?
Me: *glances* Oughta be. What does it say on the bottom?
Flatmate: *checks, as though she hadn't before* One.
Me: Yes. *hides eyeroll behind computer*
Dude, she took a class in "eco-feminism" (whatever the fuck that is. i often think that 60% of Women's Studies is bullshit. sort of like 60% of Flatmate is bullshit). She talks all about how she's into being green and shit. Why does she not know what is recyclable??? And actually, I would rather not discuss the raised rates for our cable bill right after a mediocre practise session (in which I had a devil of a time trying to ignore the music she was playing while cleaning her bathroom -- I swear it sounded like she was playing something on the stereo that has speakers right outside my door, and is that really necessary when she has a computer which she could put much closer to the bathroom (or inside it, how about that?), instead of needing to turn up the volume on the stereo right outside my door loud enough to carry to her bathroom?), kthx.
-----
Yesterday in the car on my way to work i almost had some kind of emotional breakdown. I was seriously blinking back tears during some old-guy cover of that NIN song Hurt. And then whatever else came on after that, I don't even know. It was awful. i just, I don't even know why, and my mind kept going back to last winter
and somehow i started thinking, 'it was my fault. I did this.' Like I had somehow brought it on myself that -- I don't even know, really. that J. didn't want to be with me after his psychotic break -- like it was somehow my fault for doing what I know was the right thing. or like somehow, if I hadn't gone to SD that weekend with my roommates, things would have turned out okay because I was there to notice something wrong and help him, instead of miss his call because i was on a fishing boat --
I know, it's not like I could have really done anything to prevent what happened, I'm sure, and
god. I don't even know what I'm trying to say now. It was a bad place. And then when I got to work all I wanted to do was go hide in the stacks for a while -- shelve or shelf read or shift or something, a task where it could just be me and the books and I wouldn't have to smile at people or think or anything -- but instead I was stuck behind the circulation desk all afternoon helping patrons and my eyes were tired and it was awful. And I got home in the evening and I curled up on the floor by the kittens and cried and they didn't even care. And Flatmate got home early and I had to pretend to be on and I visited John and he fiddled with my bassoon and that was okay, and his dogs were sweet and we chatted and Nick was there and that was nice too, but then I got back to my apartment and I was exhausted from it and I declined to watch Almost Famous with Flatmate and her bestie and went to bed and had a cry and fell asleep.
And I don't know why it all came flooding back at once, and this shouldn't be able to shatter me like this anymore. I should be done. I thought I was done. But I keep having these crying jags and not being able to fall asleep and then not being able to get up and I've been entirely unproductive for the past three days and I just feel so -- crushed. stomped flat. crumpled. Why can't I just be done?
-----
Just now:
Flatmate: *holds up a plastic container that formerly held plums* Are these recyclable, do you know?
Me: *glances* Oughta be. What does it say on the bottom?
Flatmate: *checks, as though she hadn't before* One.
Me: Yes. *hides eyeroll behind computer*
Dude, she took a class in "eco-feminism" (whatever the fuck that is. i often think that 60% of Women's Studies is bullshit. sort of like 60% of Flatmate is bullshit). She talks all about how she's into being green and shit. Why does she not know what is recyclable??? And actually, I would rather not discuss the raised rates for our cable bill right after a mediocre practise session (in which I had a devil of a time trying to ignore the music she was playing while cleaning her bathroom -- I swear it sounded like she was playing something on the stereo that has speakers right outside my door, and is that really necessary when she has a computer which she could put much closer to the bathroom (or inside it, how about that?), instead of needing to turn up the volume on the stereo right outside my door loud enough to carry to her bathroom?), kthx.
-----
Yesterday in the car on my way to work i almost had some kind of emotional breakdown. I was seriously blinking back tears during some old-guy cover of that NIN song Hurt. And then whatever else came on after that, I don't even know. It was awful. i just, I don't even know why, and my mind kept going back to last winter
and somehow i started thinking, 'it was my fault. I did this.' Like I had somehow brought it on myself that -- I don't even know, really. that J. didn't want to be with me after his psychotic break -- like it was somehow my fault for doing what I know was the right thing. or like somehow, if I hadn't gone to SD that weekend with my roommates, things would have turned out okay because I was there to notice something wrong and help him, instead of miss his call because i was on a fishing boat --
I know, it's not like I could have really done anything to prevent what happened, I'm sure, and
god. I don't even know what I'm trying to say now. It was a bad place. And then when I got to work all I wanted to do was go hide in the stacks for a while -- shelve or shelf read or shift or something, a task where it could just be me and the books and I wouldn't have to smile at people or think or anything -- but instead I was stuck behind the circulation desk all afternoon helping patrons and my eyes were tired and it was awful. And I got home in the evening and I curled up on the floor by the kittens and cried and they didn't even care. And Flatmate got home early and I had to pretend to be on and I visited John and he fiddled with my bassoon and that was okay, and his dogs were sweet and we chatted and Nick was there and that was nice too, but then I got back to my apartment and I was exhausted from it and I declined to watch Almost Famous with Flatmate and her bestie and went to bed and had a cry and fell asleep.
And I don't know why it all came flooding back at once, and this shouldn't be able to shatter me like this anymore. I should be done. I thought I was done. But I keep having these crying jags and not being able to fall asleep and then not being able to get up and I've been entirely unproductive for the past three days and I just feel so -- crushed. stomped flat. crumpled. Why can't I just be done?
