I haven’t really been writing lately, and I don’t have much of an excuse, except that I’m suffering from burnout in a major way. Anxious people will know what I mean: you know that feeling after you’ve had a massive, massive panic attack, where you feel like you have absolutely zero strength left in your body, and you just want to sleep for, oh, a decade? That is how I feel right now. Seriously. It’s like we got through the divorce, and then my body said “You know all that tension and nerve you’ve been carrying for the last 22 months? Yeah, we give up now,” and just fell apart. I haven’t done the horrible keening crying, or “fallen apart” per se, but I just emotionally have very little to give right now. The things that used to not bother me, or at least, didn’t bother me so much? Send me screeching into the night, lately. I’m tense, I’m exhausted, I just have nothing left to give lately.
Which lead me to asking my boss for a vacation week. I’ll be taking it from August 31st to September 9th. And I could not be more excited.
I don’t really have any plans right now, because a) I’m broke and b) who would I even go with? But it’s really exciting to know that I have that option, that I’m going to have a week to sleep in, relax, take some time for myself. Maybe get a massage, maybe visit some friends out of state (if I want to), and then top it all off with my trip to New Hampshire that first full weekend in September. Yes. It is a little over a month away, so I have plenty of time to plan ahead.
In other news, Wildfire is THREE WEEKS FROM FRIDAY OMG. I can’t believe it came this fast. I still have to buy a sleeping bag and start going over stuff I need to pack.
I got an email from Dr. LW, and my master’s thesis prospectus was approved and signed off by the Graduate Studies’ Office ON THE FIRST TRY. Wahooo! The good news is: three rewrites and edits before submission apparently did the trick! The bad news is: omg, it’s time to actually write this thing and I am scared to death, here, let me spend another six months on research because actually writing it is scary.
But people who don’t write their Master’s theses don’t get Master’s degrees, and therefore don’t go on to become Ph.D.’s. Or something like that.
I joined a fantasy football league, too. That’s a thing that happened. My transition from “Ew, football sucks,” to casual Patriots fan, to rabid Patriots fan, to rabid football fan, is nearing completion. Look at my life, look at my choices. I regret nothing.
Things are going pretty damn well. I’m content. Not ecstatic, not euphoric, but content, and that’s a pretty good place to be at 29 years and 10 months 🙂