Done

I am... tired. Beyond tired, even. I'm just kind of *done*. I have no focus, I have no enthusiasm, I'm impatient but not because there's anything I particularly want to *do*. In fact, it's kind of the opposite: I just want to stop doing things. I want this day to be over. I want my job to be over.

I'm not suicidal. I don't want to leave my family. I'm just... I deeply tired of being tired. I'm deeply tired of being discouraged. I'd like to have some motivation back. I'd like to have some energy. I'd like to have some sense of morale.

If I'm about to get sick, then I'd like to just run a fever (or whatever) and get it over with. I don't think that's it, though. I just want everyone to shut up and go away for a few days. Which is kind of a problem, since I'm parent to two pre-teen children and since my wife seems to be in just about the same place I am, emotionally speaking. And, honestly, when I wrote this the boys were doing a lovely job of entertaining themselves; it's just that I can hear one boy's YouTube videos and the other boy's video game, and I want it all to stop.

I swear, I used to enjoy things. I used to have hobbies. I used to be able to finish things, at least every once in a while.

Right now, though -- and I'm going to set this to publish later, not just after I finished writing it, so with any luck none of you will read it until after I'm somewhat recovered -- right now I don't want to do any of it. I just want to bury myself in the earth for fifty years, like one of Ann Rice's vampires, or plug myself into cryosleep for a century-long trip to another planet. I want to turn into a statue and wait until the proper alignment of the stars recalls me to life and movement.

I want to stop needing to do all the things that right now I still need to do.

Instead, I'm going to put the boys down to bed. And in the morning I'll wake them up and I'll go to work again. I'll even pretend I care about what I'm doing there, though I don't guarantee it'll be convincing.

And I think... I hope... that I'll start looking for some way to make a change. Because I think it's vital, especially in a mood like this, to remind myself that things really can get better. And maybe if I act like it, I'll start to believe it again.

Unstructured Time

So, we're making selections from a list of "vital needs" - the things you need to have in your life in order to be happy, or at least satisfied. Firstborn has just finished looking them over.

Firstborn: "What is unstructured or structured time?"

Me: "Structured time is time with planned activities. Unstructured time is time when you get to do what you want."

Firstborn: "Oh."

Me: "Like, I have unstructured time. Maybe I'll play some video games. Maybe I'll take a bath. Or maybe I'll read a book. Or maybe I'll run down the street naked with a piece of fried chicken in each hand."

Beautiful Wife: "Don't run down the street naked with a piece of chicken in each hand. That's illegal."

Me: "There's a fine line between 'unstructured' and 'illegal'."

Firstborn: "...And running down the street in a bathrobe would be right on that line."

Me: "Exactly. Running down the street naked would be waaaay over it."

Firstborn: "An uneaten piece of fried chicken in each hand!? That's way over the line!"

Being Cherished Is Harder Than Jello

Woke up this morning & came out to the living room to find that everyone had curled up on the couch. I sat down on one end and was immediately snuggled by both boys. Firstborn then offered one of his massages, so I got myself stretched out... and the Secondborn and the Beautiful Woman joined in.

My friends, I feel positively cherished. I mean, it is a truly awesome Saturday morning when the first thing that happens is megaboysnuggles, and the second thing that happens is that the entire family joins in make sure you feel good.

Then, as he was working on my legs, Firstborn discovered just how knotted my calves were. (I keep a lot of my tension in my calves apparently. This is exacerbated by having an extremely sedentary desk job.) "Wow!" he exclaimed, or something to that effect. "Daddy's calves are harder than Jello!"

And that really just broke us all up. I'm laughing, the Beautiful Woman is laughing, even Firstborn starts laughing. Secondborn leaps to my defense with, "Maybe we should say--" but Firstborn waves him off.

"My metaphors need work," Firstborn explains.

Well, that may be -- I mean, I know how he meant it, it just didn't come out quite right -- but even so, the next time I feel like being really snarky about something, I am so going to find some way to work the phrase "stronger than Jello" into the conversation.

LED Eyelashes

I may have observed before that an awful lot of what passes for fashion is apparently just a concerted effort to make clothing way more difficult than it should be. This, however, takes it to a whole new level: I can't even imagine wearing these. They look like the most annoying thing in the world.

Music and Dancing: Sergei Polunin and Take Me To Church

Real Work Conversations: Out to Lunch

Me: "Okay, I'm going to lunch. If I'm not back in an hour... call the President."

Me, a moment later: "On second thought, the President's an idiot. Don't call the President. Call..."

Me: "Ummmm..."

Co-worker: "Yeah, I'm not coming up with anybody up there that I'd care to call, either."

Me: "National Guard. If I'm not back in an hour, call the National Guard. They can probably still figure out how to get things done."

Co-worker: "Deal."

My filter is just gone, y'all. It's sailed off to the Caribbean and I don't think it's coming back.

Back to Work

I have written a brief (yet slightly epic) description of my return to work over on Twitter.