I don't want to work. I don't want to work. I don't want to work. Right now it doesn't matter to me that the success of this semester depends on my ability to spit out 30 pages of writing and study for two finals in the next two days. I have very little motivation to do anything other than lie on my bed, smoking cloves and thinking about the many mistakes I've made in the last two years. I'm enamoured of the way my room looks, the pallet of colours and the lights. Astrid is wandering around my room somewhere, ready to scamper under the bed if I attempt to pick her up. She's more fond of her freedom than I currently am of my own. I used to leave her in her cage for days on end, forgetting, sometimes, that she existed. Thankfully I've reformed, and now I'm grateful that I may not have to get rid of her for good, though her future is somewhat shaky. Like my own, I suppose.
I read an article the other day, about how -- in a contemporary society obsessed with anti-depressants -- a little melancholy isn't necessarily a bad thing; it can provide creative inspiration, etc, etc. But right now I don't feel creative; or perhaps, more accurately, I don't feel very productive. I want to wallow. I can't shake this feeling of nostalgia, a longing for things past. Perhaps it's because in a month or so, I'll be subject to great change -- at least what seems like great change. This house has held so much sadness for me, but I can't imagine leaving it. I'll be leaving the last place that I can still access that contained so many strong emotions, some that I thought were going to kill me, but some that made me swell with so much goddamn happiness. It's not that I want that specific situation to return, but I still harbour so much attachment to a certain time and a certain place with a certain person. I know that other times and other places and other people will come along, but the never again's keep floating through my mind and half the time I can't find the right words to express them.
For a few weeks now I've been fighting certain desires, wants that sometimes embarass me. There's a life that sometimes appeals to me, but right now I want safety. I want warmth. Maybe it's because I'm surrounded by happy couples -- or unhappy couples, as the case is sometime. When I think about how strongly I want something like that, it makes me ill. Part of me says I'm not supposed to want that. The other part just kinda shrugs, and continues to whine.
It keeps getting later and my work continues to be unfinished. I'm hungry. I ate today at some point, but it seems rather far away. It's getting dark and I dread that. It means that I've wasted an entire day, a day that I meant to be productive. There's so much to do, but so much that I want to avoid. I think, though, that I'm sufficiently light-headed enough to start writing my paper now.
Where is all of this going?
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annoyed.
tired.
anxious.
contemplative.
disappointed.
blah.
hopeful.