My serious lack of blogging has had very little to do with being busy, and mostly to do with being in a terrible funk.
It drives me crazy to admit that it was mostly work related- but that's the flat-out truth. Someone made a really nasty comment to me nearly a month ago- and instead of just blowing it off and moving on- I hung on to it, and my resentment towards that person and that comment turned into resentment towards my job. Spending 40+ hours a week in an environment that made me feel completely miserable was an awful way to spend an entire month. In turn I started to feel overwhelmed and frustrated over my home and social life, and even planning anything fun felt like an awful chore to me. I kept trying to shake it, but I wasn't allowing myself to just stop feeling crappy. I'm sure that our gloomy June and trying to function in a still half-packed apartment didn't make things much better- but normally those things alone don't feel so overwhelming.
This weekend seemed to have just knocked all of the grumpiness right out of me. I got my ass completely kicked carrying an overloaded bag. I'm sunburnt and my feet are blistered. I came home with hair full of sand and salt water and bonfire smell. I didn't think about work, or our messy apartment, or care about the weather. Our one rainy morning just added a perfect spookiness to being on the ocean. We ate sandy food, and slept in sandy tents, and my last pair of contacts seemed to glue themselves to my eyeballs. We drank creek water and ate food that hadn't been properly chilled and never got sick. I didn't get drunk or watch fireworks for the first July 4th in years. And it was wonderful.
I always seem to want to hole up when I feel bad. I forget that going outside and allowing myself to completely check out is often the only thing that can really help.
Matt & Renai Shi Shi 2010 by Nick Katarow