Wednesday 10 December 2003

Damn, black holes are big!

I have to admit that over the past ten days I've accomplished absolutely nothing. Nights are sleepless, days are wasted, and I'm overcome with feelings of helplessness and guilt. I've now been out of work for eleven weeks and, despite the feeling of purpose I had four weeks ago, I've allowed myself to be sucked in by the gravity of depression.

The highlight of my life since returning from Mom's for Thanksgiving was Catherine's birthday party. I took a bus up to the mall and bought her Lemony Snicket's first book in his Series of Unfortunate Events, The Bad Beginning. She really enjoys mysteries and thought she'd like the story. From there, a walk across the mall parking lot brought me over to Chuck E. Cheese's. There I got to see her with her best buds, Bonnie, C.C., and Samantha. Oh, what a group they make! Bonnie asked if this truly was the first birthday party of Cathy's I'd attended since she was four; I corrected her saying I was at her fifth and added that this was the first party to which I'd been invited since then. (Naturally it was Cathy that invited me, not her mom.)

I've been going to the library or Hard Drive Cafe each day to check my email, surf the web, and add to my NFL section of the website. Last night at HDC I ran into (via MSN Messenger) of all people, Jackie. It's been since September of last year since she'd had any contact with me and we chatted for half an hour. She's found a guy at college and is engaged to marry him. Good for her. She apologized for not writing me when learning I'd lost my teaching job and said I was one of the best teachers she'd ever had and that the principal was an idiot for letting me go. I didn't tell her about Kari's doings, but said I would email her soon to let her know about the behind-the-scenes happenings behind the release of my contract.

Though we've had snow a few times this season, today's is the first decent one. There's an inch on the ground as I write this afternoon and more on the way with a winter storm warning out.

Meanwhile, the last of the money from yet another loan from Mom is about gone, and rather than getting a job I write here instead. As mentioned in 13 Seasons, I write as a form of self-therapy, and maybe I'm getting a wake-up call that I need to do something to get out of this mess once and for all. Maybe a shower and a shave will help. Maybe cleaning my apartment will. Maybe talking with someone will. As I wrote at the end of my last entry, "There's still so much more work to get done." I just wish I didn't feel so overwhelmed by it all.

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