I have posted before about my sports indifference. It's a point of contention between Elwood and me, because he thinks a kid should have a sport. I can see where he's coming from. I will sign the boys up for soccer or swimming or whatever. I will get them to the practices. I will take snacks on schedule. But honestly? I cannot muster much enthusiasm for the whole thing.
Today was the MathCounts competition for our area; I went to watch the head-to-head competition at the end. And what do you know, I found my inner soccer mom.
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Oh, internet, I have been in this ridiculous tailspin, not getting
anything accomplished. Anything! It's like I got all stressed out about
having a completed draft, like part of me doesn't really want to finish
this degree or is afraid of what comes next or is perhaps just a raging
wackaloon.
I am applying for a job and I am nervous. I got
rejected for that faculty position, which is fine because I really
didn't want it, but now I'm braced for more rejection. I can't get past
the first paragraph in my cover letter. If I don't apply they can't
reject me, right?
I am applying to present at a conference in
June and I am stuck on that application too. It could be really fun --
I was trying to persuade my husband that we should slip away to this
cool city for a few days, just him and me and the baby -- but I have to
get unstuck first.
We got in an argument yesterday over the
stupidest thing: the sheets came off one of the boys' beds. Minor, yes?
Not a big deal, am I right? Except it was one of those arguments where
-- whoosh! -- all of a sudden it's ugly for no good reason. I'm still
mad.
I told my advisor I'd get her a batch of revisions by the middle of
this week. That would be today, and I am nowhere. Nowhere! Perhaps the
most exasperating thing is that I just need to put my head down and
WORK for an hour, maybe an hour and a half. I've been busy thinking up
passive-aggressive Valentine's Day cards instead, because I'm mature
and forgiving like that.
Blargh. And blargh some more.
I am going to flex my atrophying diligensius muscle (oh, shut up,
spellcheck, it is totally a muscle) and see what I can crank through
before I need to get to bed. But sometimes a person just needs to say
it out loud: internet, it's time for me to get over myself already.
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