I used to value my Alone Time, and cling to it like a zealot, because I had so little of it, and needed so much more.
Now -- apart from work -- alone time is all that I have, and Filling Up the Empty Places has become my overwhelming task and concern. I'm throwing everything at it that I possibly can, but nothing seems to stick. Or, in some cases, it works for a short while and then it wears off, like alcohol, leaving me feeling like another option has been taken off the table. It's probably why I'm afraid to start any serious work: I'll find out that I can't do it anymore, and be left even worse off than before.
In my current state of mind even this blog seems little more than so much masturbation.
I was in a dark mood already because of all those things and because I've been ill for over a week now, three and a half days in bed, two of them too weak even to hold a book up. Now comes the news that it looks as if I will get enough money from the estate -- and soon -- to pay off my house entirely, and my father is urging me to do just that. I don't want to. That money is all I'll ever have, and it seems prudent to stay liquid. What if I got laid off? My own meager "savings" would last more than a few months.
Most people would be cheered by news like that. I don't even want to think about that money. It just depresses me to no end. Knowing where it came from, and knowing what I do about the financial desperation my mother was experiencing in the last months of her life.
A year ago today I was preparing for the biggest upheaval in my life. Now that the dust has settled, I'm standing in an emotionally vapid state and wondering what the hell is next.
I shouldn't even be sitting here typing this crap. It doesn't help. Guess I'd better go back to bed. Reading about Pauline Kael doesn't accomplish anything, but at least it doesn't depress me.