I Don't Have the Energy Anymore
Things have been an emotional roller coaster for me lately. Some of these things you've heard about, others you haven't. But believe me when I say my road has been peppered with some pretty affecting bumps, and at the end of the week, all I can say is I no longer have the energy to react, for better or for worse. The volume in my head has been turned way down. I say, "Oh." And that's that.
I guess pneumonia does that to you. It's hard to give things the attention they deserve when you've got no lung capacity. I can't laugh or gasp or yawn, so there goes some of the major response mechanisms.
I'm also bored, like in a serious and very desolate way. I thought I'd get over it once I got out of bed and back to class and interacting with people again, but something important in me hasn't recuperated yet. How do I know this? Because I find it difficult to empathize with friends and all the stupid drama in their lives; because I can't listen to the radio in my car (music, NPR), whereas silence used to make me giddy; because my schoolwork suddenly seems so inconsequential; because I have two major exams coming up this quarter, and I'm too distracted to study for them. Just a week ago, I was avid about all these things. Sure, I still wasn't studying for those exams, but it wasn't because I couldn't focus.
I remember thinking last Saturday, in those hours when I was lying there by myself in the ER, that I was glad I was sick. For one thing, it seemed the most poetic way to crown that week's debilitating emotional trials: throw in a debilitating breathing condition. But more importantly, I knew with my illness that I had reached rock bottom. From there things could only get better - and that was a liberating idea. I could start over. I have a vivid memory of replaying that old favorite line from Seinfeld in my head: "I feel reborn! Like a phoenix...rising out of Arizona!"
But instead, I find myself tripped up by this boredom. It makes me feel lonely. It's different from depression - and I have to admit, much better. Everything is just a little muted.
Last night I went on eBay and found this beautiful, colossal b/w poster of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy from the Cramps. It was unusual, inexpensive, and almost through its auction time with no bids. As much as my limited emotional reserves allowed, I wanted it badly. But wouldn't you know, someone sniped it away from me. Of course! Not that it's a big deal; these past 48 hours or so have brought both good news and bad news of far greater magnitude. Even if I had a choice in karmic affairs, I wouldn't have wanted to waste any of my good-luck points on winning that poster. But it was something small and unique and delightful, and it might have made me feel excited.
Because Lux Interior's crooning vocals is one of the few things that makes me smile and think that life still holds something happy and sexy for me.
I guess pneumonia does that to you. It's hard to give things the attention they deserve when you've got no lung capacity. I can't laugh or gasp or yawn, so there goes some of the major response mechanisms.
I'm also bored, like in a serious and very desolate way. I thought I'd get over it once I got out of bed and back to class and interacting with people again, but something important in me hasn't recuperated yet. How do I know this? Because I find it difficult to empathize with friends and all the stupid drama in their lives; because I can't listen to the radio in my car (music, NPR), whereas silence used to make me giddy; because my schoolwork suddenly seems so inconsequential; because I have two major exams coming up this quarter, and I'm too distracted to study for them. Just a week ago, I was avid about all these things. Sure, I still wasn't studying for those exams, but it wasn't because I couldn't focus.
I remember thinking last Saturday, in those hours when I was lying there by myself in the ER, that I was glad I was sick. For one thing, it seemed the most poetic way to crown that week's debilitating emotional trials: throw in a debilitating breathing condition. But more importantly, I knew with my illness that I had reached rock bottom. From there things could only get better - and that was a liberating idea. I could start over. I have a vivid memory of replaying that old favorite line from Seinfeld in my head: "I feel reborn! Like a phoenix...rising out of Arizona!"
But instead, I find myself tripped up by this boredom. It makes me feel lonely. It's different from depression - and I have to admit, much better. Everything is just a little muted.
Last night I went on eBay and found this beautiful, colossal b/w poster of Lux Interior and Poison Ivy from the Cramps. It was unusual, inexpensive, and almost through its auction time with no bids. As much as my limited emotional reserves allowed, I wanted it badly. But wouldn't you know, someone sniped it away from me. Of course! Not that it's a big deal; these past 48 hours or so have brought both good news and bad news of far greater magnitude. Even if I had a choice in karmic affairs, I wouldn't have wanted to waste any of my good-luck points on winning that poster. But it was something small and unique and delightful, and it might have made me feel excited.
Because Lux Interior's crooning vocals is one of the few things that makes me smile and think that life still holds something happy and sexy for me.
posted by Rex at 12:32 AM
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