This morning I woke up at 9.15 am, wondering what day it was, where I was and who I was. It quickly occurred to me that it was Friday and that, yay, it’s the weekend tomorrow! Just as quickly, I realised that it wasn’t Friday at all but Wednesday and anyway why would the weekend matter to me, as I don’t work in an office any longer and I am at home all the time? And so I am a stay-at-home PhD person slash writer, but one who doesn’t get paid for the privilege. I was back to earth after all.
I rolled out of bed and started a day that was very vaguely reminiscent of the uni, when I never surfaced before 1 pm and when getting ready to go out usually meant selecting the pants for fencing practice for the 9.30 pm session at the sports centre. I can see why I could quite easily live in abject poverty in my uni days; there was nothing open bar the local SPAR when I was around and spending temptation was non-existent.
I managed to do a minute amount of work in the shape of Watchmen research (you’re going to hear about these guys so much more I am telling you) perked up by my usual coffee. Then I sat at the table glassy eyed for a good half hour, thinking that, all things considered, I probably spend most of my daylight hours enunciating no more than fifty words, twenty of which are rolled out in Starbucks
hi I am fine I’ll have a sugar free treble grande caramel macchiato to stay please ok that’s fine thanks
and another twenty to my dogs upon leaving the house and returning there
I’ll see you later be good hey guys I am home down down down would you like a gravy bone
which leaves about ten or so for Rick when and if he calls me from work
hey rick yes fine yes all good you yes great ok see you
I probably strung in another twenty or so at the car wash today, which makes for a big change. Still, by the end of the day, today or any other, I feel like I am brain-fried, my thoughts about what to read and why and how to connect what I read with something else I’ve read or seen leaking out of my ears. It is now 7.30 pm and I am pretty much ready for bed, even though I slept like a stone for ten hours last night.
Perhaps I should start making collages like I used to, in order to try and disconnect from the research and the writing. Maybe I should start the colouring book I bought a month ago, something I keep leafing through but I am never quite brave enough to deface in the lurid green and purple combination I love so much. Maybe I should just try and switch off and leave the reading for one evening. Or perhaps I should do what I tend to do every Wednesday night when Rick goes out pooling; I should get some senseless movie (say, a Hugh Grant movie or how about Zoolander?) and let it run in the background. The problem with me is that everything overstimulates me because everything can be useful in the cultural studies arena. I need a break, like, a real one, with no computer, no books, no reading and no writing.
