Sunday, 7/3/16: the highs and the lows

These past few weeks have been physically — and also a little emotionally — exhausting. I keep feeling bad or cantankerous about random things and stay up to think and write and think about them, feeling falsely (?) accomplished about all the thinking out loud. Staying up, too, to indulge unhealthily in snapchat to wash the night sorrows away in the blue glow of my phone screen in bed, in precisely ways I do not want to be spending  my bedtime. Abusing my time and body in the name of youth and probably depleting its precious resources at the same time.

And now that I’ve sufficiently alarmed you, dear journal, with the rampant dramatizations of my feelings these days…

TL;DR — I’m tired.

And I’ve been tired for a while now.

And a lot of it, I wanna blame it on the other people who are taking up all my time with their business and their needs. Sidenote (and unending query of my life): Why am I so selfish?

Like all this apartment hunting we’ve been doing for m, all these weekends. It’s like I’m invested but not. And this weird middlespace is weird and confusing. I dunno how my opinions should count and whether I should even express — or have? — them at all. I’m glad I get to provide input, but dang it, apartment hunting is exhausting. The endless scrollthroughs of Craigslist pages. The endless scheduling and meeting and asking of the same questions. The terrible apartments within the price range. The wonderful ones outside. All the imagining to do — all the possibilities — of what life would be like in a certain space and just being reminded that nothing is perfect. At least at first glance.

TD;DR is, still — I’m tired.

So yesterday, at the end of a long, sweaty day of apartment hunting, hand in clammy hand with m who had been bearing with my sleep deprivation grumps all weekend long, it was a relief to realize: Actually, life is kinda okay because m and I have the biggest laughs to staccato the worst of our grumps. As in, it’s when I’m being the grumpiest and tiredest that m makes me laugh the hardest. There’s something about tiredness that wears down the ridiculousness membrane, and he says something that cracks me up or I do something that makes him guffaw. It’s a nice break. But I’m still grumpty so no more neat conclusioning. The end. Grumpf.