Why do parents get so hyped up about their children sleeping through the night? It doesn’t last! (Though I suppose it doesn’t bother the parents if the children don’t come wake them as well…) Case in point: last night I woke up at 1.50 AM with a massive headache; and then again an hour later. The headache was still there, so I bumbled my way downstairs and took two ibuprofen. It didn’t help much, I don’t think, because when I woke up at 5.00, I not only had a headache, but I felt nauseated too. But taking a day off isn’t an option, since I had to go to class anyway, so off to the shower I went.
I was seriously, seriously considering skipping breakfast. I am emetophobic in a major way, and I will do pretty much anything to avoid getting sick. But I tentatively ate today. Everything except for one Boost. And, to be honest, I felt like crap all along. Still do, actually.
My surroundings weren’t all that helpful: I was on a subway car with an individual who clearly hadn’t bathed in some time … my stomach turned at that. And then I saw this story on the gym TV. I am not generally a queasy person, but my stomach did another little twist at that sight. By the time I got around to freaking out over my two presentations, my poor stomach was knotted up like seventeen pretzels.
In case you were wondering, they went okay. I felt like an idiot in the first one, but that’s no surprise, as I’ve been an idiot in that class pretty much all semester. The second one was better, I guess. Apparently I also got an A/A- on that paper, which annoys me because I knew it would happen, and it could have been a straight A if I’d expended a little more effort, but whatever. I’m just glad it’s over. For the moment.
I went to the pet shop today to see what I could / should do about my poor sick silver dollar. The guy there said that I can save him, though I really should have a quarantine tank. That isn’t happening. But I needed Maracyn, and guess what? … They only had Maracyn for a saltwater tank. So I dashed five blocks crosstown and six blocks downtown to go to another pet store… and they didn’t have any Maracyn. Epic fail. And if I want to euthanize him, the most humane way of doing it is to stick him in the freezer. Uh.
My dad happened to pass by another pet store, so he went in to see if they had Maracyn. Not only did they not have it — it’s been discontinued! So what am I supposed to do, just let him die?! I hate having to watch this and not be able to do anything about it. I wonder if that’s how my parents look at me…
Anyway, the new filter I bought last week seems to be malfunctioning. So I have to bring it back there tomorrow. This pet shop isn’t exactly next door to my office. I have a lunchtime laser appointment. I have no idea how or when I am going to manage to go to the pet shop and eat. Meanwhile, my parents are all, “Just give it up, throw out the whole thing.” Seriously — what ever happened to parents encouraging their children to not be quitters?! Though I’m telling you, I’m like a reverse King Midas. Everything I touch (or even think of touching) turns to dust.
Re: the post title, I am finally, finally, finally done with this semester. This combined with the fact that I am a total pushover of a sister and agreed to pick up a bike pump for my brother today, which required toting it around from the store to work to class and then home.
I have a co-worker who rides, and I showed it to him. Then he started telling me about which pumps are best, blah blah blah… and I started to get this really depressing sensation of not knowing who I am. You know what I mean… everyone has something by which to define themselves. Things like, I am a runner, or I am a mother, or I am a dancer, or I am an artist. Whatever. You get the point. Most blogs have such defining characteristics, too. Mine doesn’t, and that doesn’t particularly bother me, because it’s just a random mish-mash. But I don’t know who I am. And that does bother me.
This must be cropping up in my mind now because while I guess I can still say I am a student, even during the winter break, it isn’t exactly ME. I’m going to graduate eventually (well, that’s the idea, anyway!), and then what will I be? I can’t say I’m a diver, because I don’t do it more than two or three times a year, no matter how much I love it. I don’t want to say I’m a [job title], because I would hope there’s more to my life than that drudgery. I can’t say I’m [insert some relationship title], because I’m not, to anyone.
I’m sorry this is such a downer (and picture-less!) post … I’m just feeling rather lost / yucky / sad / frustrated at the moment. I guess I don’t do the “pretending to be cheerful” thing well a lot.
Have a good Tuesday.