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My brain is fizzing behind my eyeballs
by Felicity Bloomfield posted on 2008-03-01 03:23 last modified 2008-03-04 11:03

I am, inevitably, diseased.

The problem, y'see is, like, I'm a delicate flower, y'know?

I am, apparently, made more for sitting around than for functionality. But I just suck at sitting around. In January, I worked for 2 hours altogether (and tried desperately to get more). Then things changed rapidly. Now my paid work is at 19 hours a week (not counting breaks - what breaks? - and not counting transport time between clients). On the basis of that considerable rise in pay, I moved house two weeks ago. I also write, as always, for 20 hours a week. So writing plus regular work makes 39 hours a week (not counting transport, and without actual breaks).

My body has basically said, "Oh no you don't."

I more or less agree: I really should slow down. But I just can't. I look at what I'm spending my stress on, and the smart part of me says: it's important to keep the boyfriend happy, keep the friends content, do excellent work for every client...what's left?

Writing. So I tell myself, "Okay, let's take a break from the writing for a bit, shall we?" Then I get something like a snarl in response. It JUST DOESN'T WORK. My urge to write is oddly out of my control.

So here I am, spelling out what's in my head, so that hopefully the loop of logic (me to the aether and therefore back again) will make me stop.

Oh, and I've developed a phobia of avocados. Which is a lot more upsetting than it sounds.

Hmm. New plan: I borrow $100 tomorrow (assuming that my three currently-overdue employees don't come through with the correct moolah by then) and waste it on mad frivolities like a cover for my peeling car dashboard (the car's a work car now), credit for my phone, and a solid meal. And maybe chocolate. (My diet I CAN give up without violating my moral code. It'll come back and bite me later, but I've been doing so well I know I can handle it.) Definitely a mixed berry smoothie at Black Pepper cafe Belconnen (which incidentally is the best cafe I've ever been to. Equal with 'The Chocolate Fish' in New Zealand - everything they do is done with excellence and with heart.) Maybe I'll go crazy and have a banana smoothie AS WELL.

Just for tomorrow, I do no writing. None. But I do watch 'Mythbusters' (which counts as an hour of research...every job has its loopholes, and I'm my own boss). Which then leaves me with only 2 hours to do on Sunday.

I already have a date with Timothy planned, including dinner at my house and then a movie. I'll give him the choice of bringing dinner with him, or being the cook (I can direct, but actual grating and stirring sounds too difficult. Plus it's always fun to watch Tim cook for me.) And I'll let him buy me delicious candy at the movie.

I guess, in summary, I'll have a delicious, wasteful, unwise, selfish day. The world can probably handle its own friggin problems for twenty-four hours.

This may actually work.

Fel


Image by NathanGibbs
Cortesy of Creative Commons

Please Sir, no more

Posted by Felicity Bloomfield at 2008-03-05 23:55
Well, it worked. My health improved almost immediately, and I continued to recover at a normal rate until last night. That's when I found out that my unmet landlord is emptying the house (possibly including her own sister) due to a relationship breakup. I may (or may not) have four weeks' notice.

I'm so badly screwed I feel like a low-grade celebrity should be popping out of my cupboard at any moment to tell me it's all an hilarious practical joke.

On the up side, I may be able to move into a place with some friends of mine (friends that I like, which sadly is an important distinction). On the down side, I might not know for another month. By which time my renewed sniffles should have developed into full-blown pneumonia. Did I mention all 6 of my jobs are casual?

I was thinking of things that'd be worse, and I considered parental death. And decided against it. See, if my parents died, I'd probably get some money. Which'd be great! AND my debt to them would be cancelled. AND I'd probably get to move back in without all those awkward parental issues.

If someone out there is thinking of getting into the contract killing biz, drop me a line!*

Fel

*I hope payment in cats is acceptable.

mental

Posted by Felicity Bloomfield at 2008-03-07 22:16
The thing I hate about all this is that, if I've learnt anything from being mentally ill, it's that I have to take things slowly, or there will be dire consequences. And now that ability (to slow down) is taken away from me by force. So I know I'm going to fall apart, and soon, and there's nothing I can do about it.

The thing I love about all this is the crazy, wild excitement of moving house. I'm a stressmonkey at heart, so this feeds my inner manic like nothing else. It's fantastic!

Yesterday I spent 11 hours writing. Today I swam a kilometre, and I'm most of the way through a further 8 writing hours (I also worked today).

Tomorrow, I plan to (a) find a new place to live (b) move in (c) write for 4-5 hours (d) go on a date with Tim.

It all depends on (a). Essentially, the sooner I move house, the sooner I can recover. Everything, including my health, hangs on (a). But I have a cunning plan, and three possible houses which I'm interviewing at tomorrow. (My cunning plan, with the minor frill of some written references to help me seem especially reputable, is to physically take the bond with me, in cash, and show it to them. Hopefully the assurance + the allure of $200 right under their nose will be a positive decision-maker. And a fast one. Of course, I'm ASSUMING that my second-biggest boss actually paid me today, like she said she would. . .

Wish me luck.

Fel