Weird

Currently reading:

• Everyone Knows Your Mother is a Witch by Rivka Galchen

• Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury

• Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver by Mary Oliver [ongoing]

Books finished this week: 1

★★★☆☆

• Where this book came from: Rizzoli, just last week

• Why this book: I finished reading Mister Magic and had to make an emergency pitstop for a new book. I figured a classic mystery was the right move.

• Thoughts: It’s strange to read something that birthed or popularized so many noir tropes, because it feels like a parody, even though it’s the thing that started the thing. Some of the tropes are fun—the bonkers 1930s slang, the gangsters—and some are very much not—the homophobia, the misogyny. The book was (mostly) easier to read than I thought it would be, and I (mostly) liked Marlowe’s narration, though the mystery itself got pretty convoluted that I was really relying on Marlowe’s long monologues to explain to me what was going on. I might read other Raymond Chandler novels. Or I might stick with my modern crime fiction.

Library updates: 

I’m finally getting around to writing this early on Sunday afternoon, which is out of the ordinary for me. I typically start drafting these missives earlier in the week, slowly chipping away at bits of it as I feel inspired or find a topic to seize upon. But like with a lot of other things the last few weeks, I’ve just felt unmotivated and uninspired.

The word I keep landing on to describe how I feel is “weird.” Not quite sick, but maybe my allergies are starting to kick in. I also woke up with a migraine early this morning, the visual aura clouding vision in my right eye as I stumbled to the bathroom in the dark. So maybe that was brewing for the last few days and I didn’t even realize it? I skipped out on a few plans this week——things I was planning to do alone, things I was looking forward to just a few weeks ago when I signed up, things I paid for——because I felt tired and disconnected and just off. I’m stressed about work and trying to stick to the writing routine I declared for myself just last week (and which is already failing). I signed up for Hinge again on Thursday and I kind of hate having that little app staring at me again. But maybe I’m lonely? Writing has been going okay, once I get started, and I enjoy thinking about and talking about stories, but then I feel guilty about everything that “needs” to be done, every chapter I should be editing for my day job or every surface in my apartment I should be sweeping or tidying. I have those work edits and also homework (nothing due today, thank god) and I know I’ll feel better if I take a walk, see a friend, maybe just stop stressing and let myself rest. But I can’t turn it off.

I feel weird. I don’t know how else to describe it. It isn’t (entirely) anxiety or stress; I don’t think it’s depression. I need to rest but I can’t. I want to be a part of the world but I can’t bring myself to get outside. I have things I want to do and things I need to do, and I can’t figure out where to start or how to do one thing without feeling guilty for ignoring all the other tasks.

I should be writing all this in my journal, but I kind of want to put it out into the world. Maybe that will help me find my motivation, knowing people can read these words and make assumptions and judgments about me. I’m calling myself out and maybe also reaching out. I don’t know. My brain is just fucking weird right now. I’m overwhelmed, yet I barely left my apartment this week. Some social interactions have felt awkward and strange, while others have been totally fine and freeing and fun. I don’t feel like I’m doing enough. I don’t feel like I’m sleeping enough. I think this is just a slump, but I haven’t been able to break myself out of it yet, and that worries me. I don’t know how much weird is too much. I know I declared, not so long ago, that this was my era of taking it easy, but I don’t know how to be patient with myself.

This is too much to share in my silly little reading blog, but it’s where I’m at. And I feel a little better for writing it out, even if I’m now also panicking about how fucking unhinged I sound.

(Don’t worry about me. I sat outside for an hour and I feel better. I also have therapy tomorrow night.)

Closing thoughts: 

God, I don’t know. Easier said than done, but be nice to yourself, I guess?? Feel the weird and do what feels right and take your meds and fuck the deadlines and sit outside and keep moving forward.

Total books read from the Moratorium Library: 72

(Total books added to the Library: 141)

I wanted to support one of my favorite bookstores, Split Rock Books, because both the store’s owner and their handsome bookstore cat George are going through a difficult time. (You can donate to their GoFundMe here, if you’re so inclined!) I purchased a mug and two books about writing that I’m not counting toward the purchased-book count, and also Duane Swierczynski’s California Bear.