It’s been a long time since I’ve written, both privately in my journal and here (but especially here). I’ve only recently begun writing fiction again (hallelujah) after a months-long dry spell. Said spell had been driven by the anxiety that constantly described my state of being–thank you, prescribed meds, for finally getting me to feel like a human again (which is why all the ~BIG PHARMA~ people are full of it).
I’m currently going through the routine of getting-medical-stuff-finally-checked-out-and-as-a-result-get-on-tons-of-meds, which is about as much fun as it sounds. Going from three, at most, pills a day to at least six–unless I have a headache, and then it’s eight–sucks, but I guess it’s worth it for feeling better, for not dying sooner because of these disorders at least, and for Getting My Life Together.
2014 was an eye-opener of a year. I did a lot of things I thought I’d either never get to do, and/or never be able to do, and I did some things that weren’t really all that great and looking back even less so, but I learned from all of them. The best thing was absolutely Ireland back in March. I thought it’d be decades before I got to travel out-of-country unless expenses were paid, but thanks, student loans. I got an invaluable experience, met some awesome new pals, and had to adjust from jet lag for, like, two months after I got back. I really should’ve read some of those ‘recover from jet lag’ books….
I learned my limits, as far as my own mental and psychological health, and feel like I’m only just now healing from things in the last few years. I learned morality is often made gray, no matter how much you think you’ve decided on stance or a principle. I learned that anyone who makes you feel anxious, worried, and constantly self-critical is probably not good for body or spirit.
I’m proud of the fact that I’ve learned how to dip out of situations that make me uncomfortable or no longer happy. People’s feelings have become less of a concern of mine and nurturing of my own person has risen in priorities. I don’t mean that in an “I don’t care about how you feel” way, but rather an, “I’m doing me and you do you and as long as you’re cool I’m cool” way. The growing-up way. I’m proud of being able to write again and that it doesn’t feel like a chore; I thought I’d permanently broken something inside and it was killing me. I think it was just one of those recharging phases most writers and artists and creators go through–something about experiencing life in order to have something about which to write.
My “new” (since July) job downtown is so, so much busier and productive than the library I worked at before. That was a great library to start at but I was ready to move on. I usually have at least one project to work on, and get along well with everyone in my department. This is definitely the biggest place I’ve worked as far as employees, patrons/customers, and building space goes, but I think I’ve done well with the adjustment.
Grad school is still grad school. Ready for it to be over but also enjoying it. I’ve changed ideas of what I want to do so much, but at this point in my life feel like a Ph.D. might be…uh, “fun” is one way to put it. Masochistic, maybe, but I like writing. And the niches I’ve burrowed myself into with library science have awakened my love for research all over again. The topics I’ve enjoyed and could see myself writing extensively about are LGBTQ archives as well as the diversity not-so-inherent within the field. I think either would be viable for a dissertation but I’ve got time to decide all that.
And I’ve really reached the limit of what I want to post about my life today. It’s been a busy year personally, professionally, and academically. I’m looking forward to what the next 10 months will bring.