For those times when I have an urgent need to share my thoughts.
I've tricked my internal clock into believing that I'm a nocturnal creature. Knitted hats litter the room. Tomorrow, regardless of what time I wake up, I'll take my medicine and GET STUFF DONE. I *will* email Carol concerning graduate school. I *will* call Edfinancial and figure out loan payments.
Oh yay, I'm tired!
I'm up no later than I normally am, but tonight I'd like to be asleep. Without going into unnecessary detail, I feel like I do whenever this time of the month rolls around. Being a girl sucks at this time. I hate feeling this emotional, this on edge. It's like I'm one second away from an emotional explosion, whether it be sadness, or anger, or... well, usually something negative. I don't expect myself to burst out in laughter any time soon. No, right now I'm nostalgic and uncertain. I miss people that I willingly and forcefully said good bye to. Why? Is it really just that emotions are turned up and I may only miss them a bit? Or that I miss them all the time but now it bothers me?
I don't know. I am happy to report that I have several commissions and have 3 hats ready to give to their buyers.
Graduate school scares me, as does responsibility in general. I'm terrified of the realities that come with growing up, but at the same time I crave to be taken seriously.
I think I'll take my medicine tomorrow. It's the only way I'll get anything done. I mean, I've kind of accomplished things. Knitting things, anyway. And I made a list of people who want me to knit them something. Grad school is my real goal, though. I need to focus on that and all of its hoops.
Oh! But I have gotten a job opportunity, however modest. A friend of a friend needs a babysitter Tuesdays, Thursdays, and possibly Saturdays. It'll be from ~5 to ~10. That is, her class is in Paris, she lives in Martin, and... yeah. Something like that. I don't know the age or gender of the child. Quite honestly, I hope it's a girl and under 5. I like that age group, de babies, and it's easier to work with girls. Maybe I just relate to them better. I doesn't know. It's not much-- 15 hours a week at the very most, but it's something.
I wish I knew myself better. And I wish my hands would stop itching. GRRRR
