“Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.”
I have come down with a nasty case of what I like to call the ‘awfuckits.’
I’m tired. I have a long list of things to do, and I’m bored, and a little overwhelmed. I just can’t be bothered to do the routine things, like take my makeup off at night and take my contacts out to soak overnight in the cleaning solution. I am eating poorly, even though I know even the small amounts sugar I ingest will kick off a vicious cycle of cravings and hypoglycemic sugar crashes that really make me feel terrible.
I just don’t care.
Not good. We all know where this leads; one day, I don’t wash off my makeup, then I stop taking care of myself as I should, and the next, I can’t get out of bed.
I have to get out of bed.
Jan. 14 I start going to school part time. The hospital system I work for is putting me through school, paying for my tuition and books, to become a radiology technician. It’s an amazing opportunity; it will come close to tripling my current pay and vastly improve my life situation. I can’t afford to screw that up because I’ve got the blahs. But if I don’t have the energy for my life now, how will I cope when I’m out of the house from 8:30 in the morning to 11:30 at night three days out of five?
I know a large part of the problem – outside of Dustin’s loss, which of course rules them all – is the sharply cold weather and the snow. I can’t stand the cold and never could; at least one of my ex-boyfriends referred to me as a human popsicle because my skin is cold to the touch more often than it’s not. So now that it’s cold and grey and icy and wet outside, everything seems like an awful lot of work. I dread going outside, I dread crawling into an icy cold car at the end of the night, I dread trying to shower in a cold bathroom. The cold reaches in deep, curls around the bone, makes my fingers and toes ache, and triggers violent shivers that aggravate a chronic back injury.
It doesn’t help that shortly after my birthday, my car died of a cracked engine block. So now I have the added stress of trying to save for a car (I can’t afford a car note right now, not even close) while relying on the eroding patience of my parents and brother to get back and forth to work via a 104-mile round trip commute.
I just need something to be easy for once, or at least not so excruciatingly painful, but somewhere along the line, that seems to have become an awful lot to ask for.