Frenetic

(adj. wildly active, hectic)

Apt description of my daily routine's current pace. I'm aware that my more recent posts have been few and far between and filled with half-hearted jabs at coherence and apologies. Right now, I'm too tired for either of those, so I'll simply chalk it up to being busy and exhausted and leave it be.

The February long weekend passed nearly two weeks ago, and it was a glorious mini-break for my mind and body. Watched the Olympics with friends, had a Valentine's staycation with LS and spent ungodly amounts of time relaxing in a jacuzzi without a care in the world. I emerged the happiest prune in the galaxy.

Back in the real world a fortnight has passed and I've been ill (bodied and tempered), busy with homework and the frantic preparations that preceed my work's spring convention. Have spent little time with friends or family, and have become increasingly grumpy over the lack of quality time available with my sweetie.

When we're not working or in school, one or the other of us is busy with a project or getting shit sorted. I miss him, even though I've seen him twice this week, most recently when I dropped him off at home this morning after a run to Tim's. You gotta make the most of the time you have, I get it, but getting together after a 14-hour day, sitting on the couch and promptly falling asleep after a half-uttered, "how was your...zzzz..zz...." is not ideal.

I suppose I can appreciate the irony of griping over my single status for so long, only to get into a relationship and spend most of the time doing the same shit I was doing when I was single. There's no requirement for clinginess, as we are both--with nary a trace of doubt--highly independent people with a strong need for personal time and space. That said, it's difficult to finally find that level of intimacy and comfort with someone and not be able to live it for more than a five-minute goodnight phone call every evening.

I know, whine, whine. Find something good and inevitably you'll find a flaw. Well, I will. Because I'm built to see the cynical side of things. As negatives go, however, dealing with the dissatisfaction of not having enough time together is far easier than, say, dealing with someone who has the time but doesn't want to spend it with you, or that you aren't happy with when you spend time together. That cliche about love as a drug is true. And like any fix, I want it in an immediate, urgent way that leaves me feeling down if I don't get it. it's the simple things: an embrace, a smile, that firm shoulder squeeze as you lean together on a walk. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. But if you finally see the object of your fondness after a long week of crap, and anticipate that moment, you aggrandize it until the moment seems insufficient to quench the thirst for time and attention you've been building up.

I think I need to reprioritize. Sit down and make some actual time, a carved-out niche, where I can devote my whole time allotted to the moment and the person, instead of spending the short hour together between work and my night class worrying about that assignment. Why be there if you're thinking of the millions of other things? Being with LS is one of the few things that makes my heart rate slow and calms my nerves when I feel like I'm going to twitch myself to pieces. Why ruin that with worry? Oh, if only I could turn that part of my brain off.

Falling for someone the first time was so much easier. We were 22. We were in university. I only worked part time and we practically lived together in his basement. I know. I'm selfish and wistful and have to be a grown up and recognize that with grown up responsibilities comes less time to indulge in camping out for days, when reading a book and drinking a cup of coffee while lazing in bed was what life was made for. Two weeks since our staycation, and already I need another. No, wait, I need an actual, full-blown vacation.

In other relationship news, I hit another milestone: I met the parents. First time since I was 19 that I've met a boy's parents. (MJ didn't have any, which is another interesting relationship conversation altogether). They were nice, lovely. I wanted them to like me. I believe they did. I wanted them to confirm that I was a positive person to have in their son's life. I believe they did that, too. And they paid for dinner, to boot.

I'm tired and I need some tea. Work to do. Pay to earn. You know, the usual.

The hamster fell off the wheel.

You ever have those days?

You know, the ones where the incessant whirring in your head abruptly stops and you're left with nought but an empty staccato echoing through your brain cavity?

I'm having one of those.

It's not that I'm unable to think, it's just that, well, the volume of good ideas or "aha!" moments has shrunk to undiscernable levels. Being a person who is generally unable to sleep properly because the thoughts in her head tend to buzz too loudly, it's off-putting to feel like a wrung-out sponge. Am I not supposed to be endlessly clever and charming and creative? If I am boring myself, what must I be doing to those around me? Sure, overthinking sucks sometimes, but underthinking makes me feel like I can't hold up my end of a conversation or that my inane neuroses will escape in garbled bursts of nonsense between moments of robotic inflection and mute head nodding.

So I have no biting sarcasm or torrential downpour of opinions upon any particular subject at the moment. All my subjects are moldering inside my mind along with the dimestore rodent who kicked it. I need a brain re-energize. An outlet for something creative or daring or brilliant, that will make me feel both a sense of accomplishment and pride in having put my internal think tank to some purpose other than keeping my forehead protrusive.