April 7, 2004
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I feel discombobulated this week.
I suppose I could chalk it up to the whole hour change thing, being unused to the strange light in the morning and having blue skies until long after suppertime. Which in turn tweaks my little inner clock and keeps me up way past midnight. I have been relentlessly puttering in my room, or writing, then deleting, and rewriting posts long into the night. And then deleting them again.
Yeah. Whoa.
The strange thing is, I feel this malingering hyper-anxiety. I’m generally kicking ass at getting things done this week, cracking the whip in the Art Room, preparing for the big show, efficiently and systematically handling my schiznat, but it seems to be all in a panic. Like my pants are on fire or something. I am flaming-pants girl! For someone like me, with the attention span of an enraptured boulder,* this is very disconcerting. I can’t stick to one thing for three minutes without flying off in a tizzy. Nor can i recall what I had just been doing a moment before.
For instance, today I was up in the staff lounge busily arranging my doctor’s appointment with my mum, juggling with my checking account, yet again faxing comcast (bastards!) to get my money back, and cutting out bits of colored paper. All at once! A marvelous crackdown on the to-do-list for the day. I was clomping back down to my classroom, congratulating myself on my stellar efficiency, when i realized that it was nearly eleven and I had completely forgotten my 10:45 class. Fortunately the clever little monkeys were already there with my assistant, so all turned out rather well, but damn!! I am a flaming fruitcake!
I really feel as though I should not be let out of my house, at least until the season passes. I’m almost afraid to go to work. Who would like to volunteer to pretend to be my mum, and call in ”flaky” for me tomorrow?
* Me, in a staring contest with a rock:
I won.
Comments (5)
“I feel discombobulated this week.”
I hope you’re more combobulated next week!
I too feel very out of it. I threw my keys in the garbarge at work the other day, and I also locked myself in my basement when everyone else was asleep. That ain’t right.
oh dear, you still need your mum to call you in sick?
also, staring contests with rocks… I tend to win too.
I will happily pretend to be your mum if you ply me with liquor and help me inch Nibbles the Charm-free Guinea Pig ever closer to heaven.
Also, are you Canadian or perhaps English? Because you say “Mum”, and I don’t know many (any) Americans who say that.
Nah, I’m not british. I just watched too much Britcoms and Masterpiece Theatre “Programmes” when I was a kiddo.