I'm aware

that in my poopedness here at the office today my real life is blending into the blog a bit overmuch. It's rather a meta-y synecdoche-y Charlie-Kaufman-y Being-John-Malkovich-y kind of fatigue-y in-the-moment blogging and pondering and thinking/writing aloud kind of attempting-to-figure-stuff-out Real Life play by play that will surely end in my being swallowed up in the quandary itself.

Or maybe you will.

I'm not supposed to do whiny, journally posts

but I'm pooped and mad at myself. Besides that tho, it's 5:48am and I'm leaving for school in a minute. When exactly will I have a break this summer? Hmmm. I know I should just focus on the fact that I did get to spend 6 weeks in Paris for crying out loud and just shut the hell up. That perspective is all well and good for my spiritual happiness and yadda yadda yadda, but my actual brain and body are getting really tired and really do need a solid block of nothing-to-do. Oh sure, most of that fatigue is self-inflicted due to the recent extreme upswing in procrastination (which was under control for about two weeks and then the briefly newfound work ethic went to shit), but poopedness that is one's own damned fault is still poopedness and still necessitates a hefty recovering-from.

If I make it to 1h30 today without conking out or having a crise (a) it will be a miracle, and (b) I really will be caught up and can take a few days... A few days in which to reflect, for example, on how the hell to change my wrongheadedness where work, taking care of myself... life, quoi, is concerned.