I suppose it is blowback from My Foolish Friday (no real details, just trust me) that has caused me, of late, to not be the sharpest tool in the shed.  It started Monday, when in Phonology, a class in which I articulate very well, it seemed as though the wheels had fallen off.  I stumbled and stammered and made no real point.  Fine, whatever.  Everyone has off days.  Then I go to work and I’m faced with GSS.  I’m fine, but I felt especially compelled to prove to him that I was fine.  So I made a very lame joke.  But I bounced back, so that’s all right (after a fashion).

Today was also rough, intellectually.  At one point, I despaired of ever having a functioning brain worthy of graduate school.  What if this is the best I can expect from my brain?  That is not the attitude I need going into the Semantics midterm.  Especially since Semantics has sounded nothing but fishy – I get it, but I don’t buy most of it.  I hear a rumor that future classes might actually be less suspect, but I’ll believe it when I see it.

I just feel like I have been slacking off, which I probably have; however, I also feel that the harder I try, the less clarity I have (and I’ve recently gone on about my appreciation for clarity).  I need spring break now more than ever.  Sure, it will be a week of toilet-scrubbing, French syllable structure, French negation and, just for fun, some Bantu morphology.  But the amorphous quality this semester has had is getting me down.  And I need to reset myself to better cope with it.  And that is hard when every day is work and school, school and work.  Hopefully, just not having classes may jolt me out of this general malaise (which I insist is more than just GSS-related disappointment, because it has been simmering for awhile, and the entertainment value of flirting kept me distracted enough to not give it that much thought).

What it is, this malaise, this ennui, this weltschmerz seems to me to be analogous to wearing shoes that don’t fit.  I find that my life doesn’t fit anymore.  The last time I was this ready to pack up and move on, I was seventeen and about to become The Fresh Freshman (ugh, that sucks as a moniker, but we’ll let it alone).  I have joked that I would have walked the 170 miles to college, all my personal belongings on my back.  It isn’t so very far from the truth.  I’m chafing at the prospect of all the crap I still need to do before I move on.

And that, I truly believe, is why I have this nagging sensation.  I’m ready to move on mentally and emotionally, but physically I’m stuck here until the end of the semester (plus, I still don’t know exactly where I’ll be going).

And that’s why flirting with The Young Man and The Younger Man has not been particularly entertaining.  It doesn’t suck, to be sure, but it doesn’t seem to serve the purpose it should.  It is the equivalent of a candy bar – it’s a quick fix, a sugar rush, but ultimately, not nutritionally satisfying.