Then take Wednesday night. Had the best intentions of actually getting to bed by 10ish. But a bit mopey, and so called Karina and Kevin. Talked to Karina for a bit, cheered up. Talked to Kevin for a bit, got mopey again. Finally he made me laugh enough that I cheered up*, but by that point it was close to 11. Had to get up at 6:30, raced around trying to get the newsletter out and send out other reasonably urgent e-mail. Didn't eat breakfast or drink tea or shower (ick!). Still haven't updated the staff pages or written/sent out the long e-mail I need to write to the CS staff about some possible structural changes. Hopefully tonight. Dozed on the bus and BART and shuttle. Tired all morning. Will probably be more tired all afternoon. Just want to sleep. Why would half an hour make such a difference?
...I just went out to the bank at lunchtime. It was drizzling with great determination, and a great gusty wind was backing up the rain. Picture me, a small brown woman. From the ground up: black boots, an edge of straight grey skirt, long black buttoned raincoat, face tilted down and a black floppy hat pulled down as well, with wind whipping masses of damp black hair around in a great swirl. Oh, and don't forget the huge grin. The grin is very important. I was cold, I was wet, and I was happier than I've been in the last two days. There's just something about a wild rain...**
And then five minutes after I got back to my desk, Karina called, and I got to have a lovely chatty conversation with her until the end of my lunch break. And I feel much better. Still tired, but definitely better. The telephone is a wondrous thing.
I have been really tired lately. Maybe it's because I'm not getting enough sleep. Maybe it's because I'm getting practically no exercise and turning into a big round blob. Maybe it's because I need to get my thyroid dose checked. Whatever the reason, my functional time really only lasts 'til around 3-ish in the afternoon these days. I force myself to continue working, with perhaps a break for Friends, most days, until I go to sleep, but I know I'm only being half as productive as I could be in that time. And I haven't done laundry or dishes or cleaned my room since the weekend. I'm desperately searching for mostly clean tights and socks each morning. (I also need to just buy more of both at some point.) All I want to do these days is sleep. Maybe I'm sick and just don't know it. Maybe I'm just a lazy bum.
*Kevin is admittedly terrible at saying the kind of mushy things on cue that cheer someone up. He can say them occasionally spontaneously, but if I say, "Say something nice," he responds with "Like what?", sounding totally lost and bewildered and completely missing the point. This drives me crazy. He has an alternate way of cheering me up, which is to tease me mightily. E.g., a bit of conversation from last night (keep in mind that he has to come pick me up from the airport at 10 a.m., which is appallingly early for the boy; he barely makes it on time to the noon class he teaches):
M: "Will you be happy to see me?" (Yes, I know I sound pathetic. It's been a rough week. I get pathetic sometimes (and defensive :-)).
K: "Umm...sort of."
pause. I almost start getting upset. Then he cuts back in:
K: "Of course I'd be *entirely* happy if your plane were arriving an hour later."
Ha ha. Very funny. Mostly this sort of thing does make me laugh, and snaps me out of my funk, but he's taking a risk, 'cause occasionally I'm upset enough that I take him seriously, and then he has to spend twenty minutes convincing me that he was kidding, really.
Y'all were probably happier when I *wasn't* telling you the details of my love life. :-)
**Have you read _A Wrinkle in Time_? There's a moment near the beginning, when Meg and Charles Wallace are in the kitchen with their mother, in the middle of the night, during a terrible storm. And the door blows open and Mrs. Whatsit arrives, sopping. Charles Wallace introduces her to his mother, and his mother says something along the lines of 'How terrible to be out on such a wild night!' And Mrs. Whatsit replies, "Oh, no! Wild nights are my glory!" (I would look up the exact lines, but I'm at work. That's the general drift, though). I fell in love with her at that moment. I trusted her for the rest of the novel because of that line, I think. I knew exactly what she meant.
And then of course, there's the other association for 'wild nights' -- Dickinson!