Would you like to know what I’ve been up to lately?
Of course not. I get up, go to work, study, maybe sneak in a workout, and go to sleep. I suck. I’m boring. I’m constantly tired, even when I’m not doing anything. My house is a train wreck. My wife hates me. My dog hates me. I have no idea how I’m awake right now, let alone typing coherent sentences, assuming this doesn’t come out in another language.
I had long suspected that this would be the semester that grad school snuck up and kicked me in the balls, so I was ready for that. It doesn’t make the workload any easier, which is crazy because it’s one class, yet I’m also working 55-65 hours a week and planning to continue to do all that throughout November. I reside in a weird haze where I constantly think I’ve done everything yet forgotten something, and then I’ll wake up in another room without being entirely sure how I got there. It’s possible I’ve been possessed by the Devil.
Work has kicked up a notch too, which I don’t mind since it’s, you know, employment. I like having more responsibility and the opportunity to write more at work – and at home as the case would often have it for bigger projects – because it validates my job (the positive) and shoves it the face of every miscalculated ass-nugget who thought sports information would be a dead-end job, creatively, that would have me write the same press release over and over again until I died (also a positive, but maybe I should be a little nicer about it).
That said, I need to be better to my wife and dog and friends and probably myself, since I’m in danger of becoming a tubby lard-ass again. I very much want to keep all these plates balanced for as long as possible, but the reality of the situation is fast becoming clear. Someone’s getting left out on a near-daily basis. My Irish guilt – not just supplied by alcohol, but natural, down-through-the-generations guilt – never lets me enjoy what I’ve chosen to apply focus to in a given evening. When I’m with my wife, I should be working. When I’m working out, I should be hanging with her. When I walk the dog, I should be at the bar with friends. All of it has gotten in the way of doing this, whatever you consider ‘this’ to be. I call it writing for pleasure, and I haven’t done near enough of it. But I need to get back to studying. See you later.