Lunch Break Papers

This is December. There are roses still blooming, there are already willow catkins, and the hedgehogs and squirrels are roaming the garden.
I'm dreaming of apple blossoms for Christmas.

It's quite frustrating when you write and write, feeling pretty good about what you write, and then look at it a few days later, only to tear everything up and start anew. Of course I learn with each sentence I write, but more and more I get the feeling there is something basic I'm missing - I waffle, and don't really know where I'm going. Seems it's back to the concept board.

The other thing I need is more discipline (get ye out of the gutter, reader thoughts - you know who you are!); I've been relaxing too much this month. Maybe I should make myself a timetable, and then make myself stick to it. Discipline still doesn't come easy to me.

Mushy brain time. It's so very hard to concentrate. I fall asleep reading; not really asleep, but getting into a sort of deep meditative state where I can still hear the music playing and am aware of time passing and know I'm sitting rather uncomfortably on my sofa but am gone far enough so that it's a struggle to move; know that feeling?
Long walks in the sunshine (what, it's December tomorrow? You could have fooled me!) help to wake up, but the train of thought just doesn't want to leave the station.
I'm pulling myself together, though. Usually, I would blame the weather, but then I saw my biorhythm, and wouldn't you know, every graph, both in the primary and secondary rhythms, is low; most are between -80% and -100%.
It's almost enough to make me believe in this. At least, I have something to blame - and something to look forward to: the graphs rise again in a few days' time.

It's Sunday evening. Although I am still not running on full power, I am so sick and tired of being sick that I have decided to ignore it come Monday morning. The place is a mess, work is waiting, and I think two and a half weeks of sick leave is enough.

Many worries piling up again. I'll be out of a job come January; Cardiff didn't want me (no surprises there); bills flowing in; etc.
On the other hand, think about it. If I write five pages a day for the next forty days, I'll have the damn thing finished. The question is, can I write five pages a day, each day, for the next forty days? We'll see.
Had a talk with my Prof last week, which was good. I started insisting on some help and attention, and will get it. She'll get one mail per week from me starting Tuesday.


Edit: Oh, and if anyone here could recommend a funny book? I'm looking for a book that makes me laugh while reading it; intelligently funny, punny, and lighthearted. I could use a laugh.

The beautiful thing about waking up with a splitting headache that brings tears to your eyes and makes you want to go and sit in a dark, silent room is the lightness and thankfulness the moment you realize it's gone.

Thanks for the reminder, Mother Nature.

I think I might have finally found the knack of shutting off the thinking and just do things. Quite a success for me, that is. For example, dancing.
People who've met me in party-like siuations where dancing is involved probably know that I am always the one sitting down or standing around like a wallflower, and no amount of coaxing will make me step onto the dance floor. It's been like that ever since I was 16 and school discos started, and over time, it's become a habit hard to break, and the more people coaxed me, the more stubbornly I refused. Why? I can't remember.
Yes, well. A few days ago, the same situation arises, and HabitBrain starts saying "nononoNO". "Oh, shut up", I think, and had a fun time dancing. I'm so definitely not 16 any more.

Sometimes, I think that there's only a finite amount of happiness in the world, which has to be spread thinly amongst all people. When I hear happy news from one side, it's always counterbalanced by someone else feeling bad. But I'm happy for the lucky people, and feel sad for the unlucky ones.

The weather is decidedly crappy today; it can't decide whether it wants to be sunny and warmish, or overcast, and it's occasionally rainy, and even sleet's falling (it's sleeting?). Not even our cat wants to go out.

I've woken up with a headache which is getting steadily worse; my fingers feel like wood, I feel like I'm coming down with a cold, and I can't think - I have teh dumb, as someone somewhere said. The brain's on neutral, purring away idly like a cat on a comfy chair. Clearly, today is not a day for pondering the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

And probably not a day to write a LJ entry, either, which is why I'll now go and huddle up in bed with a book entitled "The Big Sleep".
It's by Raymond Chandler, in case you were wondering.

Wake me up if there are any exciting news to share. :-D

At work again; digitizing and listening to a lecture held almost twenty years ago at this University about Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal". Utterly marvellous. The teacher from Hull just said, "Be careful. Never trust politicians or a lecturer". He's great, whoever he is.

I, on the other hand, am not great. At least, I don't feel great at the moment. I wish it was spring already, and I am glad February is such a short month (not least of all because then my salary arrives earlier; I do need the money; at the moment I don't even dare to look at my bank statements because the instant I do, the old familiar fear is back; but anyway).
I am dissatisfied with myself. I am slacking again, in many areas. I haven't finished a book for weeks, which considering I am a bookworm is telling in itself. I haven't written one word. I can't fall asleep at night and I can't wake up in the morning. I am not depressed, hooray for small favours, but I am annoyed and angry, both at the world and myself, which together with a surplus of nervous energy is contributing to a general feeling of "grARGH"-ness. If you know what I mean.

At least I am annoyed and angry enough to want to get off my ass and change something. Because I have the feeling that change is much needed. Or something to break open this shell of winter's sleep holding my mind.

Edit: While walking home after work, through the rain, and taking a shortcut across the old graveyard, I realized that what has pushed the "off"-button of my mind is the season, and that the "grARGH"-feeling is what birds, bees and trees experience when winter is almost over. Waking up and growing, that's what spring is for. It's not all bad, at that.