I am in a funk. A grey mood. A malaise if you will. (and you will.) Why? I don’t know. Everything is fine. And not the “I’m fine, but I’m really mad” type of fine, but the actually okay type of fine. But then…everything is fine. And that’s it. Nothing is great, nothing is stupendous. I feel trapped in a haze of mediocrity. Finding a new housing situation: going fine. Relationship with SB: going fine. Work: kind of boring, but going fine. Thesis planning: not really happening much, but what is is going fine.
(I did almost rethink my original concept yesterday when I saw that a girl last year wrote her thesis on Madeleine L’Engle and Philip Pullman. Genius. So then I was totally going to look at how post-colonialism came through in children’s literature, maybe focusing on the use of myths. Which still sounds interesting. I don’t know. But do I really want to spoil some of my favorite childhood novels by researching the crap out of them? I don’t want to be sick of them… that would just be sad. Plus I briefly glanced at research available and in the 20 seconds I looked, I didn’t see much. Which can be a good or a bad thing. It can be good in that you don’t have to struggle to find a spin no one else has before. Or it can be bad in that you have to write broader, because there isn’t the original research to allow you to go deeper. And I go through brief moments of excitement about either topic and then it pales.)
Knitting, well in knitting, I would bump fine up to well. I only have a few more inches on my sleeves of my sweater, and then I can start on the body. Which is good since my mom and I (my dad’s coming up too, but just for a few days) are having a relaxation retreat next week where much knitting shall be accomplished, and I need her help on getting started on the rest. It’s an interesting pattern. We shall see. Knitting may be my salvation.
With SB… I don’t know. He’s working all the time these days, which makes it hard to get things better. And what am I supposed to do about that one? I can’t tell him not to work. He doesn’t have much choice. About the only time he’ll get a break is when he is out of the country for work (working out of the country is still work, but it’s different), which doesn’t exactly help me or us any. I’d like for us to go do something fun somewhere, but he doesn’t have the time or the energy or, thanks to this glorious economy and his desire to buy a place, the money.
And, speaking of money, I have my first cavity. (It relates. You’ll see.) I don’t know if it’s a REAL cavity in that it doesn’t hurt any and therefore hasn’t really gone past the outer layer of my teeth (or so SB tells me), but it needs to be filled. I’m not afraid of having it filled; what I am afraid of is the bill. Getting X-rays and a cleaning was pretty much insane. Add to that a filling, in addition to car work I had to have done? I’m going to be broke. Or not really broke, since thanks to grad school I’m already in debt and how can you be broke when you are living on borrowed money, but more in debt, which still sucks.
Plus when I get stressed about all such things, I like to spend money. Which makes me more stressed, even if the amount I’m spending is tiny. (I don’t buy big ticket items. Ever.) Which makes me spend more. It is truly a viscous cycle.
