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handful_ofdustI woke up at six after going to bed around four, and lay there listening to a five-part radio play until I realized I very definitely wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. Got up, made coffee, ate some stuff to try and squeeze the mass of awfulness I felt inside me back out. And since then I've done very little except think about all the stuff I have to do today...the usual, plus so much more. Finish a short story I should have gotten in on Friday. Write an essay I have to get in on Monday. Send a bunch of stuff to the person putting together a study primer on my work (!).
Meanwhile, I feel in general like a steamed dumpling marinated in my own sweat. Everything hurts. Everything makes me spark with generalized dismay. I finished five paintings over the last two days, all of which I'm surprisingly happy with. Too bad my brain and hands don't seem like they want to do anything else right now, since I have so much, so much, riding on the assumption that I'm still capable of organizing my own fucking time.
I never really used to believe in executive dysfunction. What an annoying thing to develop at such a late age.
Meanwhile, I feel in general like a steamed dumpling marinated in my own sweat. Everything hurts. Everything makes me spark with generalized dismay. I finished five paintings over the last two days, all of which I'm surprisingly happy with. Too bad my brain and hands don't seem like they want to do anything else right now, since I have so much, so much, riding on the assumption that I'm still capable of organizing my own fucking time.
I never really used to believe in executive dysfunction. What an annoying thing to develop at such a late age.
