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Here's the wind-up, here's the pitch....
Feb. 20th, 2006 11:21 pmIt's a fit!
Okay, so I've spent three days at home, sick. They are also three days with Amy. So this should be a perfectly justifiable time of sitting on my ass doing nothing. I feel like crap, my brain doesn't work, I'm spending time with my kid.
But Jiminy-fucking-Cricket is sitting on my shoulder, frantically beating on my ear: You know you have research to do! You shouldn't just be sitting around with your kid! You will never finish this semester!!!
Except I should just be sitting around with my kid. The Bar is totally messing up my summer time with her, cutting it by several weeks. She needs my attention, even if it's just both of us sitting on the couch, being sick together (yes, she's sick, too) but being in close proximity. And yet the schoolwork looms.
I know, intellectually, that this is a short-time problem, that a year from now I will look back at this entry and breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that it's all in the past. I know that perspective is not that far in the future - hell, that's part of the reason I'm writing this: so I don't forget how dreadful it was. But right now it looks bleak. From the trenches all I see are incoming, all I hear is the whistle and thud of bombs. Knowing that in a year I will be enjoying my war stories isn't much help.
Ferrett is gone this week, as he is one week every February, back to see his folks and celebrate his godson's birthday. I miss him, but I find that my life fantasies are reduced to the President's Day Weekend that he is gone and I can spend the entire weekend indulging in comfort-viewing movies with not one pang of waiting-homework-induced remorse.
Mile 20 and the marathon runner hits The Wall. I know that I am not alone, that the fellow students in my graduating class are suffering as well. But while misery may love company, like Tolstoy's unhappy families, we are each of us unique - and solitary - in our suffering.
And it gives me no comfort whatsoever.
Moral, kiddies? Stay in school and get it fucking over with while you're young. It's too damned hard when you're pushin' 50.
Okay, so I've spent three days at home, sick. They are also three days with Amy. So this should be a perfectly justifiable time of sitting on my ass doing nothing. I feel like crap, my brain doesn't work, I'm spending time with my kid.
But Jiminy-fucking-Cricket is sitting on my shoulder, frantically beating on my ear: You know you have research to do! You shouldn't just be sitting around with your kid! You will never finish this semester!!!
Except I should just be sitting around with my kid. The Bar is totally messing up my summer time with her, cutting it by several weeks. She needs my attention, even if it's just both of us sitting on the couch, being sick together (yes, she's sick, too) but being in close proximity. And yet the schoolwork looms.
I know, intellectually, that this is a short-time problem, that a year from now I will look back at this entry and breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that it's all in the past. I know that perspective is not that far in the future - hell, that's part of the reason I'm writing this: so I don't forget how dreadful it was. But right now it looks bleak. From the trenches all I see are incoming, all I hear is the whistle and thud of bombs. Knowing that in a year I will be enjoying my war stories isn't much help.
Ferrett is gone this week, as he is one week every February, back to see his folks and celebrate his godson's birthday. I miss him, but I find that my life fantasies are reduced to the President's Day Weekend that he is gone and I can spend the entire weekend indulging in comfort-viewing movies with not one pang of waiting-homework-induced remorse.
Mile 20 and the marathon runner hits The Wall. I know that I am not alone, that the fellow students in my graduating class are suffering as well. But while misery may love company, like Tolstoy's unhappy families, we are each of us unique - and solitary - in our suffering.
And it gives me no comfort whatsoever.
Moral, kiddies? Stay in school and get it fucking over with while you're young. It's too damned hard when you're pushin' 50.
