Not Much Activity

It’s not that I haven’t been online.  I have beeen.  All day, every day.  Obsessing and compulsing, and no time for anything as creative as posting in a blog.

I have been on a jag, a bender, an emotional Weirdness Trip.  The days these weeks have run into and over each other.  I have spurts of activity, but not productive activity; my desk and kitchen table are covered with disorganized piles of paper, and I am writing lists and thoughts in no less than five notebooks, not in any order, not remembering which one the different entries are in.

To do this weekend, without fail:

  • fax my lease to Peco — find it first
  • put every piece of loose paper in a file, and, where possible, consolidate them with the already-extant files in the three drawers and three or four boxes
  • decide what to do about the van — include Dan and Harley in this  (Dan is supposed to visit thhis weekend, and Har might, might, be home; I will believe it whan I see it.)

Which is another strangeness!  Harley has been gone, living for several weeks at the Yocums’ house because it’s closer to his work and he can get rides with his coworker Joe.  I hang out alone, wander from room to room to rest my Internet arm, pet the cats, watch the Boys from eleven to midnight (Mon-Thur), neglect all my manuscripts, eat food that’s bad for me, and go to two or three meetings a week — the last being the only healthy part.  Oh, and I imagine telling off Bruce Konviser, but I’m not going to; I’m going to love him.

It sucks not to have a job.  But I could make the whole situation easier, and I don’t.

Published in: on August 5, 2011 at 3:24 pm  Leave a Comment  

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