Quiet Sunday Thoughts
Well, not THAT quiet---my blogging activity today takes place with a soundtrack of Sean's mp3's--the rolling, soaring, stumbling melodies of Portishead, Hooverphonic, the Cure.
It's always kind of strange being at Sean's without him--I always have this nagging feeling that I'm going to round a corner and find him sprawled on the bed or the couch, his hair spilling all around him in rich brown ringlets, his eyelashes fluttering innocently in sleep.
But not today. He's off to a martial arts seminar, leaving me to contemplate such varied topics as the meaning of life, how the hell I'm going to get my Social Marketing project finished, and whether or not I should have a fourth cup of coffee.
Anyway, it's strangely quiet here without him. I keep looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to have an audience as I cross and uncross my legs, push stray strands of morning-tousled hair behind my ears, absentmindedly nibble at one of my remaining long nails.
I'm not a fan of Sundays. I haven't really been in ages. When I was waiting tables, Sundays were an "amateur day"--meaning meager tips and people just plain unaccustomed to the schemas and scripts of visiting a restaurant. Now, Sundays are just a paper-thin sheaf of time between Saturdays (the one day I don't feel pulled in 20 directions at once) and Mondays (which marks the beginning of yet another hectic week...). I know how silly that sounds, that I actually spend an entire day dreading the upcoming week. But every passing minute on Sundays serves to remind me that I am hopelessly backlogged, that there is far more to accomplish before the semester's end than I'll ever have time to accomplish, that nothing I am doing pleases anyone anymore because I'm doing it all half-assed.
The hopelessness of the situation amuses me some days. I have two huge group projects this semester, and in one of them a group member is trying to ascertain everyone's schedule so she can figure out the "best" time to meet.
I guess I forgot to inform her that I would be the token slacker in the group this time (which is funny, since usually I'm the one who does the majority of group projects...), that I didn't have a snippet of time to spare. I should have downloaded the epidemiological statistics program weeks ago. I just...haven't. And group meetings? My god, the only night I get home before 10 or 10:30 pm is Wednesday, and that's just because I go into work at 7 so I can leave at 3; thus giving me ample opportunity to do a few hours' work for my assistantship. I guess that leaves weekends, when I can't seem to bring myself to do any work because the though of it just plain sickens me--writhing in my stomach like a thousand hungry worms.
How did I get here? I was that undergrad who obsessed about her field of study, writing pages and pages of eloquent, factual prose for papers; researching in my spare time just for pleasure.
I got a "B" on a paper last week. A "B". I haven't gotten a B since what, high school? I just shrugged sadly at it, slid it into my folder, and went home; hoping beyond hope that neither of my roommates would be around so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone and could just go to bed.
But, I digress. In summation, let us just say that I've been scratching off the days of the semester for ages, and when it ends I won't be a bit sorry.
Until then, you can find me huddled at Sean's, pretending that I can hide out from the piles of work and piles of drama that await me when I carefully pull his door shut, set out for the bus stop, and head home with my sleep-deprived head in my hands.