Today I’m begging off of doing something important in favor of doing something fun. I feel guilty enough about that to have to write it down so that I can stop reciting it to myself over and over, but I don’t feel guilty enough to change my mind and do the important thing.

My head hurts. Again. It hurt all day yesterday, too. Mei poked about 8 needles into my heels that made it miraculously go away for a few hours, but now it’s back. It’s not as bad today, though. Yesterday I alternated between working and resting my head on my desk. Today I think I’ll just work. And pop pills.

I read an email this morning that made me sad. It was supposed to make me happy. It was full of complementary words and brimming with love. But there was a desperate edge to that love that made me cry. I hate it that I’ve been so distant lately that people have to wonder if I still care about them.

It’s a beautiful day outside. I hope to spend some time out in it.

I have a bunch of projects to work on, but so far there seem to be so many of them that I can’t get a good start on any one of them. This is purely my brain playing games with me, I know, because really, I could just pick one and work on it. I really should pick one of the ones that needs to get done this week, seeing as this week is nearly over, having been swallowed nearly whole by the Project From Hell.

But my head hurts, and somehow that matters.

I’d intended to sleep later, but I forgot to turn off my alarm before falling asleep last night. Not only that, but the alarm had been set back by an hour from my normal time for the last few days so that I could get to work earlier, so this morning, when I could have been recovering from the tyranny of that very alarm, it dutifully informed me that I should now wake up. When I glared at it, homicidal urges barely suppressed, it smugly reminded me that I was the one who had set it to the “Seven Day” setting, that it was the victim here, and did I think it was fun be set the task of waking me every morning? Did I think it looked forward to shattering the peace and quiet every morning? Had I ever, even once, stopped to consider what it was like to be forever resented for the very thing I had required it to do?

And so turned off the alarm with less force than I’d originally intended, tried in vain to go back to sleep, and finally contented myself with lying there reading a book for a couple of hours. P would probably have preferred that I get up, but he also finally gave up and settled in for a lazy morning in bed. We dozed and woke and dozed again, and it could have been a perfectly relaxing morning except that I’m still missing that couple of hours of sleep. And I’m still a little hurt that the alarm managed to make me feel guilty about that.

Being sick sucks. I’ve been sick for well over a year and a half now, and today’s one of those days when I think I’ll never get better after all, and that it might not even be worth it to try. It’d be easier just to roll over tomorrow morning, turn off my alarm, and spend the rest of the week asleep. Or the rest of the year. Or just the rest of everything.

Rationally I know that things are a whole lot better now than they were six months ago. Rationally I’m pretty sure that the last ten days have just been one of those set-backs that I should expect while I generally get better. Irrationally I hope that some day I’ll learn exactly what’s been dragging me down all this time, and exactly how to fix it.

But it’s been so long, and I’m so very tired of it all, and tired of being frustrated with it all, and tired of living on the hope that it’ll go away, and generally just tired.

So many stories to tell, so little time.

There’s the story of my brother’s parrot, who chants “goodnight, goodnight, goodnight” until my brother gets the hint and takes it to its night cage. There’s the story of Door County, and our lunch of animal crackers, jam, and cheese curds. There’s the story of the vet (I had to take the cat to see CANCER DOC again… this time no cancer was mentioned, so he must have been particularly rushed before the holiday weekend). There’s the story of 4th of July croquet and fireworks. There’s the story of canoeing (or tuber slalom) with some of my favorite people.

So many stories. Maybe I’ll try to work my way through them in the near future. But for now, I have some quality sitting around to do. If you need me, I’ll be on the porch.

This is only the second time I’ve ever tried this two-weeks-in-a-row idea for a vacation. Heading into it, I wondered just how I’d fill my time. Two weeks seemed like a long time to hang out at my parents’ house with no real plans to go anywhere or see anyone. But as it turns out, doing nothing suits me very well, and two weeks seems like not nearly enough time to finish doing all the nothing I want to do.

Granted, I didn’t go from 60 to 0 all in one day. In fact, it takes me a week to stop thinking about work all the time, checking my email, waking up to realize that I’ve been planning or problem solving in my sleep, and worrying just a little that spending my time on the porch with a book is a little like eating cotton candy if you’re diabetic (it satisfies a craving, but it might make life a little touch-and-go afterward). So with two weeks of vacation, I get one solid week of actual, honest to goodness, spend-hours-just-listening-to-the-wind-in-the-trees vacation. I haven’t even read my email in days on end, much less responded.

Unfortunately, when I get back to real life I have to start serious apartment hunting, which sounds like no fun whatsoever. I hate all the unknowns. I hate the hunt. I hate all the logistics. I hate the actual hauling and moving. I hope it’ll be worth it in the end, but that’s another of those unkowns again.

Still, that can wait for another couple of days, as can my email. In the mean time, I’ll listen to some leaves rustling, and maybe take a nap. There’s a lot of nothing left to do, and less and less time to do it in.