Time and tide

[sienamystic]

In the clutches of the insomnia fairy, sitting here at two in the morning tired but somehow unwilling to just go to bed. Packing has resulted in me trawling through my stash of keepsakes and mementos, which have been winnowed down every time we move but still take up a substantial space. The old class essays, which I cringe to read - apparently the idea of a spell-check and a final sweep to edit my work was foreign to me, even if I got a good grade. Oh, for an editor with a strong whip-hand to wrench my rambling prose into shape! My multiple journals, my scribblings, some full of pain, some full of happiness, so many of them incredibly gauche and trying so hard, I can hardly stand rereading them but I can't throw them away. Old photos, things cut out of magazines, a tidal wave of nostalgia in bits of paper. No wonder I collect old magazines. A note from a professor on my neatly typed travel journal from the second Italy trip, saying that my world-weariness at such a young age made him sad. Was I world-weary? I thought I was just being honest.

I'm living in a sea of boxes. Being sick meant that I spent too much time sitting on the sofa with my little netbook, and my right wrist is now aching because of it and I've dug up my old wrist brace. I spent too much money on more medications today. The new owner of the building has leaped into building improvements, so the parking lot was dug up and new concrete laid, and the upstairs apartment is being torn apart and redone so all we hear are drills and hammering most of the day.

I'm not happy, really, but I'm not unhappy. I'm just overloaded and out of balance. And going to go to bed, because that's probably what I need the most.