What Can You Do With a Drunken Sailor?

My attention wanders. I’ve been thinking about writing more, here, again.

My head hurts. My eyes have gone all fuzzy. Is it the allergies? Is it computer screens? I feel like if I have to look at a screen anymore, I’ll do something I’ll later ask not to be held responsible for.

Work: easier this week, less crazy. Which is good and nice and less crazy but also like, “Oh. So where’d all the excitement go? Now it’s just me sitting in this big room with other silent people, looking at this screen.”

The mathematical sublimity of the internet overwhelms me. “Overwhelmed” is a key word lately. Since moving to New York, perhaps. I still feel as overstimulated as I did last summer when I made that post about information overload.

I really miss the feeling of sitting down with a book and being able to give that book my undivided attention. And retaining the material that I would encounter in that book. For a while last year, I used to fantasize about moving to the wilderness, or Vermont or something; and then I stopped, and now I am, again.

I had a crazy interaction with my therapist today and I’m not sure anymore if she’s good or bad for me. Shit: could she be one of those people who’s kind of good but overall bad for me, who will nevertheless leave a real void when they’re gone? I don’t know how many more of those people I can take.

Went running last night. Slept well. New clean sheets. I like running. Didn’t want to get up and head uptown on the long, early subway ride that takes me to therapy-land. But I did.

I’m overstimulated, see, but I miss my friends. I’m understimulated in some ways. I sit here all day getting jangled in the head and I come out having a hard time focusing my eyes on anything, but also feeling this ravenous need to connect with people—which, on a normal day, I haven’t been doing at work. Or not the right way. There really is no substitute for face-to-face.

It’s a hard time for friends. I see a lot of people but except for the housemates it often feels ad-hoc. Just because we’re all busy and stuff. Makes sense. But makes me bummed.

I guess I’m still regrouping, post-breakup. Realizing some things and trying to realize others. Fretting. Thinking about what’s next, lifewise. I want to blog about that some, soon. And, I dunno. Biting off more than I can chew. Trying to figure out how much I can chew. Umm. Taking care of oneself. It is a full-time fucking job sometimes.