This has been a very odd week. A weekend at home, ignoring work. Then most of a workweek spent not working, but on 'vacation' back on the West Coast. Now back for a frenzied weekend of work to prepare for school.
I'm not sure how I feel about being back in New York right now. I certainly wanted to avoid coming back to all the work. But I don't feel different or wistful about the home I just visited, either. It's strange. I do miss my people out there, don't get me wrong. It was nice to visit with all of them. But this new, insane life out here takes up so much time and effort that the year is speeding by and I don't really have time to think about what I'm 'missing' at 'home.'
The strange thing is that I actually have a life out here. It's meaningful and it's understandable to all people (unlike AmeriCorps). It was kind of gratifying to go back and talk about what it is that I do. I felt like a responsible person, a grown-up person doing her own thing.
For I really am that pioneering, crazy girl who struck out on her own, doing this insane thing that many people would not. It's beyond difficult, and it's proving to be the ultimate adventure, as well as the penultimate personality test.
I'm feeling proud of this new, true independence.
How will I fare by the end of this idealistic sojourn? It's most likely that I will only stay in New York for another year, maybe two, and then return to the Northwest. Will I be ready for the 'letdown' of returning to my comfort zone after years in a veritable battle area? Will I want to continue my quest to help better the education of American children? Will I flounder again in career fatigue and indecision? Stick myself with a deadend temp job while I desperately try to find my real identity and ideal career path?
Family and friend issues have a singularly depressing effect on me. When I think about that stuff, I get all melancholy, feeling unworthy and lonely. I question my identity and whether I have any valuable skills or attributes. I question whether anyone really would want to be my friend. If I even have any true friends. I roll my eyes and say to myself, god, no one wants to put up with this self-indulgent drama bullshit; of course there are no friends out there. I feel undesirable. I'm shy and awkward, like my inner self is still fifteen.
I've been utterly exhausted for days on end. I can't shake this fatigue. It could be this stupid illness, it could be jetlag--hell, it could be mono. I took a nap for nearly five hours this afternoon, and still could have/should have gone to bed no later than eleven tonight. But I stayed up and then when it was already far too late, too much stuff was rolling around in my head. Also, I couldn't breathe properly. So, in an effort to put off thinking about work and how far behind I am, I got back up. When it's the middle of the night, I always revert to that negative, introspective, poor-self-esteem state of mind that I really should have grown out of after freshman year of college. So here you have this entry: a peek into my head, full of loneliness and self-doubts even though I can identify parts of my life that I should be excited about. I deliberately turn my back on that happy shit and focus on the sad.