Is this thing still on? Maybe?
So, I've not been writing much lately, as you may have noticed. Except about a holiday I took several months ago. And I still haven't finished that. Procrastination and I, we're like best friends forevah! Part of it is because I'm crazy busy and part of it's just because I'm too stubborn to write properly on here without finishing my holiday posts but at the same time too off with the fairies to sit down and commit to the last 2 posts. I'm completely manic at the moment and ahve the attention span of a mentally deficient squirrel, but am mostly fairly happy which in the scheme of things that probably counts for most.
I have been reading a lot lately, rediscovering my torrid affair with the written word and despairing at my dreadful attempts to replicate the same. In a glut I read about 15 books over the spate of a few days, and was left panting and sated but absolutely craving more so I bought a bunch off the Book Depository to encourage me to read my "have to read someday" list. I called it my reward for getting my training position and thought it quite grown up after my initial urge to buy ridiculous shoes, but now I'm remembering all the study I should be doing the beautiful books sit by my bed while I hunch over a Physics textbook and mutter mutinously.
None of the physics is sinking in and I feel like a giant fraud. I keep waiting to get found out and kicked off the program even before I have signed the contracts and it makes me anxious and rebellious at the same time. So I get little done and tinker aroudn the edges with my massive to do list and consider taking a nap. Apparently 30 is the new 13.
I then commit to projects like baking a Christmas Cake (which takes weeks if done properly) and making the annual Christmas dresses (which ought to have been done right now, but which I haven't started) and instead of usefully doing anything I avoid them and then panic about the same. These are clearly not useful or rational or particularly mature ways of coping with things but appear to be how I'm built.
I'm also in the crux of a massive emotional upheaval where I'm simultaneously delighted and bereft by a situation that leaves me swinging like a yo yo that is either maniacally happy with a slightly scary teeth baring grin or hopelessly wounded and teary. It's strange to sometimes sit in the middle of the electrons that buzz around the nucleus of Elemental Jenn and watch them zip around at crazy speeds and wonder why they don't just calm the fuck down. I'm sure Bohr could explain it.
The three raisons d'etre, are at their grandparents' place this week and tiring out someone else and I miss them dreadfully while being selfishly glad to not have to look after them at the same time. It is so ridiculously easy to look after only your self for a week that one could become quite accustomed to it. Savvy to this, they are being returned soon, and we will all be happier for it.
Anyway, I'm going to sneak off and read some Bronte (on whom I'm cheating with Hemingway and Melville), which I shouldn't be reading at all because I should be memorising a Physics text book while ignoring my to do list and the last 3 presents I have to wrap. WTF is with me not wanting to finish things? I think it's a disease.
Anyhoo, much love if you've made it this far. Bisous to all.
PS I never realised Jane Eyre started so miserably, I was hoping for a fact universally acknowledged... tell me it cracks a smile SOMEWHERE.
