Monday, 28 May 2012

freckles_and_doubt: (Default)
Things I Have Learned About My Stupid Body: sometimes there are glandular days. These are the days when I'm exhausted when I wake up, my voice is down about an octave, I have a lurking sinus headache, and there's a throbbing and generalised ache under my chin. What I have learned is that these days are hopeless. If they happen - and today is a good example - I am going to be non-productive. There's no way out of it: my brain is in a state of feeble and lassitudinous wibble. It is therefore imperative that I don't add to the bodily stress and strain by feeling guilty: rather, I should rejoice in such small victories as I do achieve - emails answered, notes written up, students not bitten in half.

I should also rejoice that these days give me a low enough energy level that I simply cannot work up a good snit. So when a parent-of-student sends me an entirely unjustified email blasting me from on high for officiousness, insensitivity and gods know what else, I merely look at it vaguely, think, "Silly man", and send a placatory reply. On non-glandular days at this time of year, when the angst-mark in my office is above head height, I would explode into jagged shards, delete the email, undelete it, write three scorching replies, delete them all and then burst into hysterical tears. Fortunately, I simply don't have the energy. Besides, incendiary karma ferrets will eat him. (And possibly have done so retroactively, given that his house just burned down).

Also, it is giving me a certain peaceable immunity to annoyance, to know that my marking is done for the year, I don't have pressing papers to write, and the last third of Mass Effect 3 can have my undivided attention when I've wended my weary way home. (ME3 is terribly world-at-war and doom-laden and apocalyptic, but not without moments of quiet enjoyment, such as the bit yesterday where I swear Shepherd shamelessly checked out Kaidan's butt). All the best pleasures are simple.

December 2024

S M T W T F S
1234567
891011121314
15 161718192021
22232425262728
293031    

Tags

Page generated Saturday, 14 June 2025 09:12 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit