Promises

Three days ago I promised myself that I was going to quit drinking – except for special occasions.  As in when I am not alone.  Three days.  That is exactly how long my promises are good.  Take note now.  The window is rather limited.

I made great progress on my thesis last week.  Good, but not good enough.  And now I am stymied again.  Overwhelmed.  I worked 10 hours today.  No breaks.  Not even for lunch, which was inhaled in 7 minutes while trying to debate a point of funding.  Funding.  What a useless word.  It isn’t money because it has too many strings.  It isn’t income or revenue or anything else that might actually be spent.  It is ‘funding’, which is to be reported.  Always reported. 

My lifespan in public administration is limited.  That or I need a serious attitude change.  I do not think I have the fortitude for reform.  Right now, I don’t even have the fortitude for a second brandy.

That is a lie.  I do have the fortitude.  I just don’t want the hangover in the morning.  5 am comes way too early for heavy drinking.

I’ve had a stabbing pain behind my left eye for four days now.  It is painful to the touch – as though the thin shelf of bone behind my eyelid is bruised.  It is the pressure of the migraine that will not quite go away.  I am functioning with it – though not as well as I might.  I have two major writing assignments and I’m obviously working on neither.  Even this is a rather feeble attempt at getting the words to flow.  The are more like gel and less like liquid.  Sticky. 

What does it mean that a four day migraine doesn’t even register on the pain-O-meter?  I haven’t been bedridden from it, therefore it is not worth addressing?  I say that I will not – never again – allow myself to ignore the pain until it becomes damage.  But here I am.  Does a migraine actually damage your brain?  Do you lose cells?  Do connections become severed?  What is the physiological impact?  Because I’ve spent four days with a stabbing pain behind my left eye.  Like an old-school lobotomy.  Ice Pick style.

In five minutes I am going to go crawl into bed and pretend that today is over. 

I spent last weekend trying to recover from the week.  I’ve been really hard on myself for not being more productive during my weekends.  There is laundry to do and papers to write and people to see and so very much that needs to be done.  I should plant a garden this year.  I should clean up the dog shit in the back yard.  And it would be amazing to actually mop all of my floors.  Amazing.  Instead I’m so exhausted all weekend that all I want to do is sleep.  I sleep a lot.  I could sleep more, but I feel guilty.  But I am exhausted.  Saturday I was too exhausted to breathe.  It actually took effort.  If I could have just lie there and been totally still – no breathing, no heartbeat, no thinking – every part of my being focused on conserving energy, I would have done it in a second.  I could sleep for two days and still be tired. 

And I don’t do anything fun on the weekend.  I don’t do anything restorative, besides sleep.  I don’t have the energy.  I cannot spend this summer like I spent last – working myself to death.  Literal death as I am less and less rejuvenated and more and more exhausted after my “weekends”.  I’m astounded at my immune system, but I’m noting other issues.  Irregular heartbeats.  Hives.  And the headaches.  Oh the headaches.

I chose this, right?  I chose this. 

It is a good thing I am not having another brandy.  I can feel the pathos baying at the gate. 

Today I deleted one of the websites that I visit most – that I’ve wasted the most time on – from my favorites.  Not that that will stop me from wasting time.  But it will make it more work, and as someone for whom “Too much effort” is a very valid excuse, it might just get me to back off of the procrastinating and time wasting a bit.  Maybe.  Getting someone else to set my deadlines would also help. 

But mostly?  I need some time off.  A vacation.  An adventure even.  I need to breathe.  I’ve been going full steam on all pistons (with ample nitrous) for almost a whole year.  It has been almost a year of extreme overtime and extreme stress and extreme exhaustion.  A year of my life.  That I will not get back.  Gone. 

Yeah. 

Fuck it.  I’m going to spend some money.  Buy some music.  Get some sleep.  And do it all again tomorrow.  And maybe I’ll plan a day off next week.  Looks like I really need it.