wax on, wax off

I have really been in a funk this week.

I have an article due for the paper. I can get away with a 300 word summary of the meeting I attended. 300 words! That's nothing! Why am I such a slackass? Instead of writing that in, oh, half an hour the other night, I browsed the website of someone I've only met once and who is obviously a brilliant overachiever. She sacrifices sleep for her many activities at which she is doubtless superior.

Sigh. When I was a junior in college, I took on basically every activity I was possibly qualified for, assuming officer roles in three clubs and an editor-in-chief position for the student magazine. I stage-managed a show, tutored in the writing center, and signed up for the maximum amount of course credits allowed (though I did drop 18th century lit). I was so busy I only saw my long-distance boyfriend about once a month and barely had time to eat and drink and shower and sleep. (On a side note, during second semester I gave up washing my hair for a few days. It was a combination of laziness and curiosity.) When I went home for winter break in December, I experienced an overwhelming sense of peace when I looked out at all the farmland surrounding my neighborhood, which up until that point, I detested. It was the flat open space that soothed my busy brain. I had a month to relax before all the activities started again.

Second semester I pretty much burned right out. Several months later during my senior year, I got into a groove that felt pretty good; I wasn't so absurdly busy that I forgot to phone home to reassure my mom that I was alive. (She would leave worried messages when she didn't hear from me after 10 days.) I think I struck a good balance between being busy and having time to enjoy simple existence.

Since graduating three years ago, though, I haven't been able to rediscover that balance. Right now I'm working my 40 hour workweek, coming home exhausted, and zombie-ing out in front of an hour and a half of Simpsons. (Save for the evenings I spend with Tristan, which involve little productivity but at least include the boy I like.) I wish I had the energy to come home and... do stuff. Sort through my photos, design a webpage, write a story, read something enriching.

I miss theatre when I'm not doing it, too. But when I am involved, I'm tired and crabby. My relationship with theatre should really be a separate blog entry.

So. I recently said that I gave up New Years resolutions years ago. I think, however, that I would like to resolve to feel more productive in my creativity this year. And I want to do at least one thing every month that educates me. (I'm starting small, okay? Laziness is hard to overcome.)

In non sequitur closing, Glamour magazine says messy updos are in, and I can't even pull that off. My hair is *made* of mess, and I can't pull it into a messy updo! wtf? Sure, I know I'm not a model and I don't have professionals making my messy updo look perfectly carelessly askew (though wouldn't that be nice? I could really go for someone else picking out designer clothes for me to wear and doing my makeup for me.), but shouldn't I be able to put my hair into a satisfying, non-crappy-looking ponytail?

Peace out.