I am exhausted and my eyes are so tired. I have not been able to get a good night sleep most of this week. My tummy always hurts, I get up to go to the bathroom at least twice every night, I am always cold even if I am huddled up under the comforter with either my dog or BF and then when my BF gets up at 4-5am to go to work, it takes me a while to get back to sleep again and when I do, the next thing I know it is a couple hours later and my cat is banging on the door and yowling to be fed... :/
It sounds like you may have some anxiety or depression issues. I am sorry. It stinks not to get good rest.
Perhaps, it been your own writings you dont see what someone else might and you discredit it. Give it to someone to have a look before you delete it. I had the bug bitten on me once, nothing worth printing though, just short stories influenced by my life and i though they were a piece of crap. But a friend insisted that they were good when he read it.
I couldn't completely scrap it. *sigh* It's for a class and I just don't have the motivation to write something completely new. So I printed out what I had and just tried revising. I think there's just as much, if not more, pen on the pages as there is ink from the printer. I just don't have any desire to write. Even when I was editing, I would periodically look at it in absolute disgust and think "Why am I not done yet?" Right now, I need to get my revision typed up so I can give it another run-through--There's too much pen on my current copy for me to make any more marks without getting too confused--and I don't even want to do that.
I blame my sister. She just makes me so angry, and then I'm upset and angry and I just don't want to do anything anymore. Every time I open my mouth, she has something to say! She's so self-righteous about everything and it makes me crazy! She needs to learn the phrases "I wasn't talking to you", "mind your own business", and "no one cares".
Today a family friend was over and asked me about school. I told her I wanted to knock myself unconscious in class because I'm so bored. My sister immediately lectures me about why I ought to be grateful all my classes are easy, because I can focus on applying to other schools. But I CAN'T because for other schools you need RECOMMENDATIONS! This is the end of the first month of my first semester. I don't have any teachers who know me well enough to write good recommendations yet! But she just kept yammering ON AND ON about why I should be grateful instead of unhappy.
And then I started talking about my creative writing class. I'm TERRIBLY frustrated because I revise my assignments obsessively. They must go through at least 6-8 drafts before I'm willing to submit them. But for this last assignment the other people in my class handed in these pieces that were FILLED with typos, incorrect uses of words, poor grammar, etc. Like they hadn't even proofread them ONCE! And them my sister cuts in, "Well maybe they had homework for other classes!" And she just rolls her eyes at me when I point out they had a WHOLE WEEK to produce two pages, double spaced, of writing. There's no excuse for not even giving it one good edit! But she feels the need to tell me why I shouldn't think THAT, either.
And finally, I was talking about how a professor called another student out on not writing his own paper. We have to read our work aloud in class and he couldn't read his! He was pausing for like 30 seconds between lines, constantly losing his place, tripping over words, etc. Now, there's NO WAY a writer can be THAT unfamiliar with their work. I can understand occasionally stumbling because it's nerve-wracking, but not being able to read it AT ALL? No. But my sister snaps at me and insists he must have just been nervous. Mind, she wasn't THERE for any of this! And he couldn't even give a good answer when the professor asked where the inspiration for his paper came from! All he could come up with was "I just imagined it"! But noooo! I'm just being judgmental and even though she WASN'T THERE and has NO IDEA what actually happened, she can assess the situation better than I!
But, mind, when I start sniping at her for complaining so much, I'm just a terrible person and I don't understand! And she's sooooo super stressed! And she's been keeping me in this perpetual state of anger and frustration and I have no motivation to do ANYTHING anymore. I wasn't even TALKING to her! And she did the same thing last night right before I started trying to write. I was talking to my dad about a pet peeve of mine and before I even finish a sentence she snapped at me to shut up about it! And I was just too ****** off for the rest of the night to do anything useful.
And now I'm reading over my revisions trying to make myself type them, and I'm just thinking "God! Even my revisions are crap!"
It's not so much second guessing myself as it is just making me so angry that I can't make myself focus on anything. And then my work just comes out awful because I'm spending more time thinking about how frustrated I am and how much I don't want to be writing at the moment than I am actually working on my piece. And then I get even more frustrated because I know what I'm writing isn't any good, and it's just a massive downward spiral that saps any and all motivation to do anything.
I mean, how emotional can my writing be when all I feel is frustrated, angry, and annoyed? At the moment, I just don't care about my characters, and how can readers possibly care when I can't manage it? And if I can't make my readers care, then what's the point?
And my sister's criticism isn't even valid! I think I have a right to be annoyed that I'm just completely bored in all my classes. I also don't think it's wrong to feel frustrated when I go through my writing with a pen at least six times to make sure it's decent before handing it in and then have to read work that clearly hasn't even been proofread once. Some of them have such bad grammar and such awkward sentence structure that they're almost painful to sit through. I don't think I'm wrong to be annoyed at hastily written drafts that weren't even re-read a single time are being handed in when I spend hours combing through my pieces, reviewing not only grammar but word choice, how the sentences sound, characterization, etc. to produce the best quality work I can given the constraints of the assignment. I'm not saying I expect everyone to spend hours on revisions, but I'd like to at least read work that's been proofread for basic spelling and grammar errors!
But APPARENTLY my sister thinks I'm not allowed to be annoyed or frustrated by ANYTHING. And that's just making me absolutely crazy! Especially since she's completely free to whine about her classes, or carry on about how she puts so much more work into her classes than other students, etc. And then she gets angry at ME for being upset about it. Because I'm just the evil, less intelligent, failure twin and she's the good, sweet, smart, successful one.
I missed the deadline for editing by a minute. How annoying! But you can see what I mean! The emotions are superficial. The prose is stilted and clumsy. There's just nothing good about it! I still have several days to go through it and make it worth reading, but still! I don't know if there's anything that can be done to save it.
“Pray with me.” The request was so very out of character that Lucien was sure he must have misheard. Julienne never allowed anyone to pray with him. However, sensing his confusion Julienne repeated himself, this time more firmly. “Pray with me. Please.” Though spoken softly, the words seemed to echo throughout Duval’s café, which had by that point been turned into a pitiful sort of field hospital. Moments before, adrenaline had kept Lucien in a state of something akin to delirium. While he saw everything happening, he hadn’t truly processed any of it. All he could think was survive. There was no time for grief or fear. He had witnessed everything as an observer, seeing but not truly experiencing. But those three words seemed to made the world seem to stop.
Shaking his head, he knelt beside Julienne and insisted, “No. You will not die here.” But his voice lacked any sort of conviction. The shot didn’t have to be fatal, but the with only seven or eight left to defend the barricade there were no spare hands to help stop, or at least slow, the bleeding. Even if there were, the last man with any sort of medical knowledge had fled hours ago, and without care there was little hope.
“Please.” Julienne took hold of Lucien’s hand. It took every ounce of will-power Lucien possessed to keep from pulling away. It was May. He had no right to have such cold, clammy hands. “Not alone…” There was a distinct pleading note in his voice that Lucien couldn’t ignore.
“Of course.” Each word felt like a bayonet running him through. He couldn’t help but think it was cruel of Julienne to allow this sort of closeness only at the very end of his life. He wanted to scream and rage at Julienne and tell him how terribly unfair he was being. But Julienne needed the comfort and Lucien realized that he, too, would likely be dead by dawn. It wasn’t as though he would live long enough to truly grieve… So he chose to cherish these last moments with his friend rather than spend them resenting him. He even managed a thin smile.
Julienne squeezed his hand and raised his blue eyes, bright with pain, to the Heavens. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes and began to murmur the sacred words he’d spoken so many times before. Lucien averted his eyes respectfully and made the sign of the cross. But his attention was much more focused on Julienne than prayer. The Lord’s Prayer was punctuated with sharp gasps of pain, but all other signs of distress seemed to melt away. His breathing slowly became steadier and the tension gradually left his muscles. He was bleeding out in a small café on the corner of the rue Greneta and yet, if one disregarded the crimson stain on his shirt and his pale, ashen face, he looked as if he were simply going to sleep. Anywhere else, the quiet, peaceful devotion would have been beautiful. Finally, Lucien understood why Julienne had always insisted on being alone while praying.
He almost regretted not attending Mass more regularly. If he had, perhaps his own prayers would have served a purpose beyond comforting his brother in all but blood. His voice faltered as he felt Julienne’s grip on his hand growing weaker. Tears, long overdue, stung the corners of his eyes, not just for Julienne but also for the others who he’d not yet mourned. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. He had, of course, sworn to die for the cause if necessary. They all had. But at the time it hadn’t been anything more than empty words. He hadn’t understood just what he had promised. Not really, anyway… Lucien had only ever imagined victory—a republic rising up from the ashes of a corrupt monarchy. The deaths of his friends had never been part of the equation.
“I’m glad it’s you here,” Julienne admitted quietly.
Lucien started to answer but was interrupted by the National Guard bursting into the café, guns aimed and ready to be fired. They passed by and in many cases tread upon the bodies on the floor with no regard for the fallen. Lucie snatched up his pistol and took aim, prepared to defend himself, but the butt of a rifle came down on his wrist, forcing him to drop the weapon. Two pairs of hands took hold of him, roughly pulling him away from Julienne.
“Is the other one dead?”
A shot rang out. “He is now.” Lucien let out an awful howl of grief. Tears blurred his vision as he struggled to free himself.
“Cowards! You goddamn cowards!” Though even a hospital likely wouldn’t have been able to save Julienne, they could have at least kept him alive long enough to have a priest give him his last rites.
The third man kicked the body before turning to face Lucien. “Insulting the men who hold your life in their hands? Are you truly so eager to die?” Lucien couldn’t manage to put up a strong front. There was no defiance in his posture, nor any foolhardy cries of “vive la republique” to show he that he was not beaten. There was only grief. He let out a great sob. “No. You will stand trial for your crimes.” Lucien’s eyes widened. He had already imagined the scenario a dozen times, and it had never ended like this. They were supposed to shoot him, too. Looking passed Lucien to the men restraining him, he said, “Just make it look like it happened in battle.”
A shot in the leg. It could have certainly happened on the barricade. A blow from the rifle between the shoulder blades. Necessary to subdue the rebel, naturally. A kick here, a punch there. No one would bat an eye at a few extra bruises. Lucien curled into a ball in a poor attempt to protect himself. At another time under different circumstances, Lucien may have marveled at how unbecoming their behavior was for the supposed protectors of the people. But at that moment, he didn’t care. There was too much pain for thought.
His Dimanche would have been frightfully angry with him for giving the enemy the satisfaction of hearing him scream and watching him break. But Lucien was not as strong as his Dimanche and the man was dead anyway so his opinion no longer mattered. He was just another comrade that Lucien had not yet been able to mourn. And by the time he lost consciousness, Lucien found he could barely recall the man’s face.
Anvil woke me up whining at me at 6, so I just decide to get up for the day since I have to pick up the apartment before going to Petsmart for kitty food and a new collar/leash for Silver (She's almost chewed through her leash at the moment). I take Anvil outside and he just poops, which isn't usual for his morning routine.
So I get up and start to get breakfast for everyone. Feed my boys and there's no problems. then I go to scoop out Anvil's breakfast from his dry food bin and I step in something wet. Lo and behold I've just stepped in diarrhea from Panini who was having some loose stool last night.
I go to the bathroom to clean off my foot before I track it everywhere and then go back to get Panini's bowl for breakfast. I step on Anvil's bed on the way since it's the quickest to get to Panini's bowl. I step on something wet again. Look down and Anvil's peed on his bed.
Now I have to clean the carpet where Panini pooped and there since it's soaked through and have to figure out how to clean and dry eggshell foam along with wash his bed cover.
Why did my dad pass on his horrible trait of finding pet accidents with his feet or hands? If there's an accident you can be sure I'll either step in it or stick my hand in it. Unfortunately, I'm not limited to pet accidents since I'll step in stuff at work too.
@ Sena Hansler, thanks. :) I've revised it quite heavily and I think it might be not completely awful now.
But I'm pretty sure I'm getting sick. I'm quite tired and all of a sudden I'm very congested. I'm hoping it's just allergies, but I'm not too optimistic. I work with kids and it's getting to be the season where colds and things start going around in school. I wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't absolutely killing my motivation to do anything. I don't have a TON of things that need to get done because my classes are all pretty easy, but I'm having a hard time making myself sit down and just get what I do need to finish out of the way. I have one more paper to write this week (2 down, 1 to go!) and I have a few little things to do for my other classes.
But I'm really just hoping it's not a bad cold and I can get to class on Wednesday. I have an exam (should be pretty easy, but I need to actually be there to take it) and a paper due that will not under any circumstances be accepted late and he only takes it if you're physically in class to hand it in, as well as a quiz in the same class. I'm positive he wouldn't let me make up the quiz either, because it would give me an "unfair advantage" because I'd have had more time to prepare. -.-