About to skip the country, and entirely unprepared
12th April 2007.
Mildly shit run of late. Stressing out about my conference paper, which is entirely not going to scheduele. Stress leads to getting ill which leads to not being about to work as well which leads to falling further behind scheduele which leads to stress which leads to getting ill which leads to not being about to work as well which leads to falling further behind scheduele which leads to stress which leads to getting ill....
I've also been depressed - which is partially a good thing, it made me realise I've not been depressed in a very long time. The feeling isn't even very familiar anymore. Not too depressed though, still up enough to feel sad and miserable, which is a start. I really should be working on my paper - might come back to this later today, possibly.
I give my paper in a month. In the morning of the 12th to be precise. I'm not ready, and I'm panicking. In lighter news I made biscuits this evening. They turned out surprisingly well considering I couldn't work out how to turn the oven on (the switch was quite hidden).
Still haven't done the catch up on the last two weeks for this thing, guess it's not going to happen tonight.
22nd April 2007.
This month is pretty much running away from me.
And I'm slack about this thing.
The week and a half before Easter. I worked on my paper, and otherwise stuck to my nice boring routine life - except for the Tuesday before Easter when I spent the afternoon and evening with Tina. Looking at wedding dresses and other such activities that were in themselves entirely not enjoyable, but made tolerable be excellent company.
The few days after Easter, I was sick. Sickness lead to taking a break from my paper, which I probably couldn't really afford to. It was probably divine punishment for having a night of steak and cheese and going out on the piss with Oli and co the moment Lent was over. That night was a pretty damn good night though, except for the giant retarded musclebound freak who grabbed me in a bar and started abusing me for no reason at all. Sometime I wish I had superpowers of evil, to kill by thinking and the like. Evil is good...
On Easter Monday, I decided to give cycling a proper go as I have a nice bike for the meanwhile and hadn't really cycled since about 1995. I rode out to visit a friend in south D. The ride when surprisingly well. I stayed a while and had quite a pleasant visit. I found out he was going to Michigan not long after I'm going to be there to visit a friend I hadn't known existed (something which, when combined with my generally anxiety about not being liked, put me in my place a bit - considering how many of my friends don't even come across town to visit me, and the weirdness of realising how little I know about some of the people I consider my closest friends). I stayed a bit too long, and had to cycle home in the dark - though he cycled me much of the way and his flatmate kindly gave me a spare back light. Needless to say, their combined efforts got me home alive.
The next day I was sore. Seems cycling a bunch is painful on the unprepared. Later in the day I came down sick. Thinking about it now, the cycling at night while inappropriately dressed for the cold may have been a factor. Tuesday and Wednesday were mostly spent at home playing Fall of Heaven II.
Thursday, I wrote the above.
Friday, April the 13th, my biscuits went down well. I spent the day working on my paper. The weekend followed, spent mostly in the office and working on my paper. Sunday night, I found out my friend I'd been cycling with had had a minor cycling accident, so I diversified my stress with an impractical amount of worry about him. On Monday, I gave Lizzie a draft to check over and then spent the evening with Tina. Tuesday morning was spent psychotically making Lizzie suggested corrections before I presented the paper to the postgrads and the HOD at lunch time. All very stressful and last minute. I think it went well, almost all the comments were positive. Even my supervisor only said nice things - which is unusual in his respomce to my work. Then I came home to feel sick. Woot for poor physiological responces to stress. I spent a little of the evening with Tina before heading to my dead languages book club to talk Wulf and Eadwacer.
Wednesday, I headed to varsity but was still suffering a weird sort of burnout. I ended up just listening to Neil Gaiman read his short story (nominated for both a Hugo and a Locus this year), "How to talk to girls at parties" on the departmental internet. In the evening after attending a play reading I headed to soccer, and all but snarled at Bacon, who keeps injuring me and it is making me cranky. By this point my worry about other people's cycling injuries had spread to worry about my injuring myself and screwing up my trip, which is suddenly very soon.
Thursday I was stressing again, about revisions. Realising I was doing myself more harm than good, I organised a meeting with my supervisor for the following day and then went to the travel agent to pick up my tickets. I now have it all, including my insurance information (the thing that makes me happiest) and the plastic bag I have to fit all my liquid and gels into. And people say the terrorists haven't already won. Thursday night I couldn't sleep, I just lay awake through most of the night. Bugger it.
Friday morning, I head in and find my supervisor is home sick and my meeting cancelled. Welcome back stress. I was also having a bad day people-wise. My efforts to find stinky Joe from my office redeemable as a human being were destroyed through his casually being a complete fuckwit to me. I mostly pleasant opinion of one of the academic staff also took a major blow, for surprisingly similar reasons. On friday I also decided I'm not going to bus across Canada, instead I'm going to Niagara Falls to be a dirty tourist and then flying to Vancouver. A flight I should have sorted this weekend and still haven't. Will have to do that tomorrow...
Yesterday, swimming was followed by a bit of work and letting my brother using a uni computer to watch an hour long youtube clip of Neil Gaiman reading an as-yet-unpublished short story of awesomeness. In the evening I went to a cocktail party and then a kegger with Oli and co, before breifly catching up with the GreenIslandite in town. I then decided I was grumpy/sleepy and went home.
Today, I'm suffering lack of sleep, an annoying cough and an addiction to Civ IV. Went to my grandparents for dinner though, which was good. The walk out was almost certainly good for me. On the walk I read "Pol Pot's Beautiful Daughter" in an attempt to get away from myself. My level of toolishness is grating on my nerves.
I have to ask around about blog sites. It occured to me that this thing is setup in a way not very travel friendly, so I intend to get a weblog of a commercial standard sort variety for my trip. I may have to see if I can find anyone who can suggest which one I should go with.
They are a literary audience, I told myself. They will not have brought rocks. They will not throw any rocks they might have brought. Even if they have brought rocks and plan to throw them, I'm on near the end and maybe they will have thrown all the rocks they have brought before I come on, and I can probably dodge the few remaining rocks.
27th April 2007.
My head might explode. Stress is slowing my preparation and I have less than two weeks. In fact, not much over one week. My head might explode.
And I'm not really sleeping. Mostly just lying awake getting grumpy about the fact I'm not asleep like people ought be.
Since I last wrote, I have sorted most of my internal Canadian travel. Will sort my Niagara trip on the day, and the ferry and Vancouver Island travel will probably be similar. Otherwise I'm pretty sorted travel wise.
At a birthday party (whether she wanted one or not) that my aunt threw for my grandmother on Anzac day, I was given a big lecture about how much I'd be asking to be robbed. It has left me feeling very disinclined to make any sort of security arrangements. If anything, I now feel more than anything that I should blutack my money to the outside of my clothing and rely on the general decentness of people to tell me when it is falling off. It occurs to me I may be a little contrary.
Quote from Neil.
28th April 2007 - Vitalis, Mart. With ruling of quire.
Thursday I had the creepiest deja vu moment of my life. Pete, a friend from school, hunted dowen my office and asked if he could talk to me. I instantly thought "huh, he's come to tell me Rupert has done himself in". Indeed, it turned out he had come to tell me that Rupert had died "suddenly, at home". It was a bit x-files-y for a while until I realised it was the logical assumption to make as to why Pete would have hunted down my office. All the bricks fall in to place to make it not supernatural prediction but logical outcome. Thinking about this made me realise I have mean assumptions about people.
And now I have a funeral to go to on Monday.
Sleep deprivation is getting to me and I seem to be having occasional auditory hallucinations. Not a great look, really.
Yesterday I went to the doctor, my weight was down over the three months - though much up over the last one, in which I've been putting on about a kg a week - and my blood pressure quite up (147/80). Fortunately it's not high enough to affect my travel insurance coverage. My bloods, as usual, superb. I continue to have bugger all blood lipid, so I ought not die of a heat attack. Won't protect me from lupus though.
I spent the morning at the pool swimming, by myself as I got the day wrong in the many scheduele changes with Meg. I think she'll be there tomorrow morning, I should go again - being what a fatty I am. I'm off to the office to work to do more on my conference paper. It is arse. And I'm being cranky at someone I have only a little more reason than usual to be cranky at. I miss sleep.
29th April 2007 - Departure of Noah from the Ark.
I have bit blothy circles around my eyes that look a bit like someone has punched me. And I have a hangover - though my typing would suggest I shouldn't, I'm typing like I'm still drunk. Alcohol is bad. Never accept a cocktail if you don't know what is in it. I'm pretty sure it was the single drink of something unknown on top of a low level bed of pleasant beer drinking that did me in. I also appear to have gaps in my memory of last night, which is a disturbing first time experience for me. I don't like it at all.
It occurs to me that I look like a slow walking extra from a Zombie movie. I think I should go to varsity and do some work. At some stage I'll need to find out if I did anything last night I need to apologise for. The not knowing part is extremely frustrating.
Spent the day in the office. Feeling quite arse and achieving little. People kept telling me I looked like crap and should go home, and I kept arguing that I didn't feel as bad as I looked. Which was true, I look god damn aweful. Around my eyes has got more discoloured and gross and now a bit rashy, pointing quite firmly toward an allergic reaction masked by how much I'd assumed I was horribly drunk. After packing up all my office for the move in the morning, I headed home and rang around. Seems I didn't drink all the much, just a few beers and a Canadian Club and ginger ale (possibly quite strongly made). Seems my being horribly ill may not have been from drinking after all, which is good to know. Or, at least, not drinking on its own. It seems the being horribly sick may also have saved me from hooking up with someone. Though I doubt I was as much "in" as people are suggesting. I've seen me.
The question now, is what got me. It was an anime theme party, and they had raided an asian supermarket for all the food. So much weird shite, and any of it could be the culprit. Hopefully the gross swollen face thing wil have come right for the funeral tomorrow. It'd be bad form to look more corpsy than the corpse.
30th April 2007 - Deposition of S. Erkenwald, Bp. of London diocese.
For reasons ill-definible I feel completely emotionally drained and want to just curl up in a ball somewhere and cry. Sure, I spent much of the afternoon at a funeral - but it was someone I've not said more than "hi" to in many years. I think the problem is that I don't know what I'm supposed to feel and, thus, have no chance of identifying what is going on in there.
Stupid emotions.
And stupid weather. It was careers day, but most of the government ministries weren't there as the airport was having fog issues.
The funeral was very nice. Huge turnout, pleasant, full choir. I'm pretty sure I've never been to a funeral with a full choir before, much less a good choir. Part of me feels the fact he was naturally good at everything and supersmart and talented makes his mental health problems less of a thing bad - but I think that is just the evil, jealous fucktard (that is the core of my being) speaking.
I think I need to lie down for a while. Hopefully, if I have the day right, Alana is feeding me tonight.
I had the time wrong, but the day right. So I ended up there more than half an hour early, and while she was still at work. It all worked out well, and got me away from the milk I was drinking before I could make myself entirely sick. It worries me that I may have a touch of the emo in me, the one I deal with emotional unpleasantness with dairy. It is much less ridiculous than cutting, but with the discomfort my lactose intolerance causes - I worry it may amount to the same thing.
I shouldn't go to funerals, I've come over extra fucking nutty tonight. And I'm taking it out on Simon far more than I should be.
My brain is stupid.
And my funeral will never be as good as the one I went to today.
In lighter news, I've set up the travel blog I was threatening. It's here - but won't be of much interest until I've buggered off.
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