Sitting In A Suit In A Basement That Is Not Mine
It's sunny out, but strangely cold in my parents' basement. The first line, it could have easily been from an almost unlimited number of teenaged blogs, but I've never lived here and have almost no common ground with the authors either. Perhaps a certain penchant for black and melodrama, but not for external causes of problems or living off of the good graces of others either. Nevertheless, it remains an excellent metaphor for how I'm feeling. I'm certain I've heard of this before, read others who have that strange sense of emptiness accompany success. It's strange, the twin sides of my phobia around work. Afraid of failure, but uncomfortable with success. Don't get me wrong, this is one of the better things I've ever accomplished: the perpetual growth trend a reality in my own life. The emotional aftermath inspires introspection, is all.
What did you do this weekend? Sleep.
Not entirely true, but twice I broke the 10 hour mark, and it's safe to say I spent at least half of Sunday not conscious. My mother mentioned that I looked like I was crashing for Sunday as well as Monday when I was leaving for bed. She may have been right.
Tonight I have an orientation with the Vancouver Parks and Recreation Board. Until then, I think I'll try and do something useful. I might just end up napping.
Written On: Mother's Computer
Currently Listening: Imogen Heap - Speak for Yourself (album d/l)
Currently Eating: Smoothies and Steaks and such