This is perfect.
For the next eight weeks my life will be entirely consumed by work. If like to say that bothers me, but it might be my last and so I’m feeling pretty nostalgic.
I won’t miss having a social life, though I suspect my answer would be different if you asked me in three weeks. I’m going to miss days like today. Quiet Sundays, alone with my dog. I’ll miss cooking and cleaning and going to bed knowing that I am refreshed and in order. Until September, my home will be a mess of half eaten quick food and sweaty clothes. There will be more work to do than hours, spreadsheets all over the coffee table, and my dog will wonder who the strange woman is who feeds him every night.
For a long time, this is what my summers have looked like. But right now, it’s standing on the edge of a very tall cliff, and hoping you don’t drown once you jump.
After being wound so tightly for so long I finally remember what it’s like to shut my brain off for a little while. My prescription finally got filled. People who say these disorders are just an excuse for fun drugs will never understand what it feels like to not be able to quiet your mind. The drugs aren’t fun if you need them.
But for the first time in months, I am breathing easy. I am calm. This doesn’t change the stress of my job or the oddness of being 27 years old and still figuring out my life. It doesn’t change who I am. It just lets me breathe.
Trying to time my Zzzquil with the end of the Heat game is hard. Cause like, they’re definitely going to lose. But also…they’re the Heat so there’s still a chance they might not.
Sometimes the last ten minutes of a game lasts 10 minutes. Sometimes it lasts 45. Never can tell, really.
The struggle is real over here, y’all.