Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.


The last 24 hours of my life. Or, on a note less likely to be mistaken for suicide: the most *recent* 24 hours of my life.

I drank. It wasn't the first time jumping off the wagon since June. It was the third. Enough time passed between occasions that they don't strike me as sequentially causal, which I suppose is something. Last night's half-pint was like swigging poison. And this morning I feel exactly that, poisoned. And yet. I did it anyway. This morning I'm rather disgusted at myself.

I joined a gym. Decided to go for a no-frills month-to-month dealio at a local Gold's Gym, which really has all the benfits of the fancy athletic club I was thinking of joining, at least when it comes to the resources I'm likely to use, at about one-fifth the price.

I wrote. And I seem to have gotten over a plot hurdle in my story, so maybe it'll be more of a downhill slide from this point. Sometimes drinking is good for something. It still wasn't worth it.

I was confused. I thought I missed taping Smallville, but that's tonight. {eye roll} Also, on two separate occasions, two different guys I recognized as associated with work said hello to me outside of work, and I said hello back, and we chatted for half a minute as people do, and then I walked away having no idea who the hell they were. Hmm.

I ate. As people do. I ate several cookies and several vegetables. I like to think they balanced out, like if you put a witch on one side of the scale, and a duck on the other, but who knows.

I zoned. Putting words to something I've noticed for a while now--some days my brain is just running in idle. Or maybe not even that; more like the car won't start, but just wheezes when you turn the key. You turn the key, turn the key, turn the key, and it grinds and gasps a bit, but then relapses into cold silence. Sometimes I have entire weeks like that. I mean, this past week for instance, I've really been skating by at work, because I can't get. the. damn. car. started. And likewise I've been unable to drag myself up to the task of writing. It's worse than boredom or restlessness. It's apathy. It's like zombies ate my brains and replaced them with a nice cheese dip. And honestly, I can't figure out how to fix it when I'm like this. I'm not doing anything different to have caused it, and nothing I do has an impact on it.

In other news, fandom_wank has apparently been shut down. That's just...tragic. There's more than a thimbleful of schadenfreude in there, yeah, but really, when I think of that LJ and some of the things I'd read on it, I get literally queasy. And when I compare most of the behind-the-scenes mocking I've witnessed and occasionally participated in against some of the f_w comments--the relish of viciousness, and the casual ignorance that was shrugged off for the sake of participating in a public gang-banging--it seems different to me. Which is not to say I'm above that, because even though I'm a pansy-ass wuss who hates confrontation, I think I'm as susceptible as anyone to self-indulgence. It's just that I haven't had the right venue yet that encouraged me to give my vicious impulses free rein. And I kind of hope I don't.

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.