Just another day.

Every morning I wake up in a hot sweat. I don’t know why. I don’t have nightmares, I don’t thrash about. I lie still and quiet the entire night. Occasionally I dream. I don’t snore.

Monday night I dreamt of something that happened to me almost 4 years ago. Same situation, except the location and person involved changed. I was no longer seated in a bedroom with a lanky, blond, blue-eyed American boy kneeling before me. Instead, a wonderful brown-haired, brown-eyed…friend. Lover. Confidant. knelt before me on a sidewalk on a sunny day. My answer was the same, and frighteningly, so was my head space.

I feel like I don’t have the energy or the mental capacity to live the life I feel destined to live. Everything has clicked into place, and all that is missing is my ability to make it all go right. I sit here in front of this computer for 8 hours a day doing what I need to do so I have the financial relief that should have enabled me to stresslessly pursue my true passions in the evening. But where is the poetry? Where is the tutoring centre?

Nowhere. The poetry drips out of me once every month or so. The tutoring centre is still a nearly overpowering figment of my imagination.

As soon as I arrive home each evening, I see the dishes that need to be done, the floor that needs to be scrubbed, the bookshelves that need to be dusted, the desk that needs to be organized, the dusty socks on the bedroom floor, the pitiful moulding stock in the fridge, a car in need of a tune up, financial records in disarray, a moody, possibly ill guinea pig, a boy who is as tied up in randomity as I am, too many demands from outside sources—and I just want to drive away. Run away. Fly away.

I try to take one thing at a time and make lists and sort through it all. And I’ll catch up on some of the cleaning, clear off my desk and cuddle the guinea pig. But it’s never all settled. I can’t concentrate on other things when my home is in such disarray, when my finances are a mystery to me, I have no budget. I’ve been meaning to budget since Iri mentioned how well her budget was working.

I want to get together with friends, and I make plans, but then I cancel. Or those who used to be my closest friends just don’t return my calls.

And I shouldn’t use any of this as excuses. I should delegate my time and work hard and get ahead. But I’m tired. And I think I catch that from Tom. He works in a physically demanding job all day. When he gets home, he’s tired. And with good reason. I’m not. I can go go go, but eventually if I’m around him for long enough, I start feeling drained too, and like I don’t want to do anything.

But I need to. I need to meet goals and fly if I’m going to survive. If I’m going to stay sane.