Thursday, February 09, 2012—Orange, California
Illness. I went down last Friday evening with what turned out to be a nasty cold and I’m just now starting to feel better ( I tried to go to a Superbowl party on Sunday, which turned out to be a big mistake—I felt far worse coming home from it that I did before heading out). Being sick has totally thrown me off my game, in regards to my writing, my teaching, my Greek studies, and just about everything else in my life. Some people I know kind of enjoy being sick: they seem to like the break from routine and responsibility, as well as the sympathy they get. I can’t stand it. I have so many things that interest me, so many things that I want to do that down time makes me crazy. I still managed to write a little and do some reading from my sickbed, so I did manage to salvage something.
Partially because of my being sick, there really hasn’t been much going on. That’s probably how it’s going to be for the rest of the semester: I see school eating up my time and struggles to save money dominating the next few months. My only goals besides this are to finish the short story I’ve been working on and another one I’ve got rolling around in my head, get more into learning Greek, and to start ramping up my fitness (my messed up back and now this cold have kept me from doing much physical for the last few weeks). Feeling increasingly frustrated lately: personally I’m in a great place, but work and other outside issues are dragging me down. I’m discovering that as I get older each moment is seeming increasingly precious, and the idea of spending my time doing things other than those that truly fulfill me seem like a waste of my valuable finite days and nights.
I picked Dandelion Wine, by Ray Bradbury off the shelf this weekend. It’s one of his few novels that I’ve never read. I’m enjoying it. It's a weird tale of a young boy growing up in the Midwest of 1928 and his fantastical awakening to the fact that he’s really alive (which of course means he’s discovering that he will also someday die). I’m not far enough into it to say much more, but thus far I’m finding it both charming and a little disconcerting, which is almost always a wonderful combination.
That’s about it. Like I said, the cold (and before that my back), has pretty much sunk everything else. Hoping to charge back into life within the next few days.
Illness. I went down last Friday evening with what turned out to be a nasty cold and I’m just now starting to feel better ( I tried to go to a Superbowl party on Sunday, which turned out to be a big mistake—I felt far worse coming home from it that I did before heading out). Being sick has totally thrown me off my game, in regards to my writing, my teaching, my Greek studies, and just about everything else in my life. Some people I know kind of enjoy being sick: they seem to like the break from routine and responsibility, as well as the sympathy they get. I can’t stand it. I have so many things that interest me, so many things that I want to do that down time makes me crazy. I still managed to write a little and do some reading from my sickbed, so I did manage to salvage something.
Partially because of my being sick, there really hasn’t been much going on. That’s probably how it’s going to be for the rest of the semester: I see school eating up my time and struggles to save money dominating the next few months. My only goals besides this are to finish the short story I’ve been working on and another one I’ve got rolling around in my head, get more into learning Greek, and to start ramping up my fitness (my messed up back and now this cold have kept me from doing much physical for the last few weeks). Feeling increasingly frustrated lately: personally I’m in a great place, but work and other outside issues are dragging me down. I’m discovering that as I get older each moment is seeming increasingly precious, and the idea of spending my time doing things other than those that truly fulfill me seem like a waste of my valuable finite days and nights.
I picked Dandelion Wine, by Ray Bradbury off the shelf this weekend. It’s one of his few novels that I’ve never read. I’m enjoying it. It's a weird tale of a young boy growing up in the Midwest of 1928 and his fantastical awakening to the fact that he’s really alive (which of course means he’s discovering that he will also someday die). I’m not far enough into it to say much more, but thus far I’m finding it both charming and a little disconcerting, which is almost always a wonderful combination.
That’s about it. Like I said, the cold (and before that my back), has pretty much sunk everything else. Hoping to charge back into life within the next few days.
No comments:
Post a Comment