003: The Spin

I'm off sick from work today. I wouldn't characterize myself as technically "sick" per se but it's not exactly a Ferris Bueller situation. I really did intend to get up and go to work today. But I couldn't sleep at all last night. I was up all hours tossing and turning to where, a little after 6 AM, I realized I had really not gotten enough sleep to put in a credible day's work at work.

I haven't been sick - with a genuine cold or illness - in a long while. I had a nasty cold last spring for a few days, but that's pretty much it. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't call a sick day now and again if I feel like, for whatever reason, I am not "my best self." I tackled lots of laundry (I know, it's peak hours, but we wash so infrequently I can't bother to bother.) Did a load of dishes. Vacuumed. I'm at the grocery store right now for a brief writing sesh before picking up some materials for dinner.

As you can tell from the below, January was a tough cookie. I was really feeling shitty about my work and place in the world. I have worked through some of it. It will never go away completely and will flare up on any given tough day, but my worst days are all just down to how I feel about whatever is going on. Whether I take exception to the tone in Caryn's voice of an e-mail, whether I get irritated about the same old inquiries, too many help tickets.

I did end up bringing much of this up, obliquely, to Jess, in our 1-on-1. I didn't fully unpack my frustration at the IA-of-the-quarter issue, because I didn't want to seem bitter because I didn't win. We talked about what directions I could investigate. I honestly don't think we're there yet, but having something to explore is nice. Feeling vital is good.

I'm trying - consistently, albeit not always successfully - to keep writing as part of my life, and I don't necessarily mean X-Men blogging and I don't necessarily mean Slade or TP stuff. I was reading this book, Best Movie Year Ever, about the films of 1999, and feeling so inspired by these stories of how these acclaimed creative people sourced their visions and saw them through that I reached that breaking point, which I discussed with Joe a few weekends earlier, where I couldn't not write anymore. So out come the attempts at a novel again, which is both frustrating and exciting to be doing, coming as it does with self-doubts and opportunities to explore.

And a script, something I have envisioned for many years now.

I read my story "Breath" out to the world of Instagram, and got some positive response. I'm going to tidy it up and submit it for Toronto Star's short story contest, at my Mother in Law's behest. I wouldn't expect it to win, because it's a little outré, a little treacly, and a little lightweight, but it's the only story I have that's much of anything, besides I suppose "Pluto" - whose original ending I probably shouldn't be afraid of anymore, but it's sadly lost to time. And it doesn't feel like a contest-winner to me either anyway.

Valentine's/Family Day weekend was a very full one. We took Friday off, watched a movie, I made cannelloni for dinner (very impressive to people who don't know how much of a mess I made of them, but I think I could do them better next time.) Saturday, we had dinner at Nonna's and played cards, then went to Manders' for a friend gathering and game night. We played Shit Happens and the Blockbuster DVD game. Not bad, not bad, but Fahad was a lot, deep into ADD mode and it drained me and Mel for the way it defined the group dynamic. But we hung back after everyone else left and spend a good amount of time with Manders and JB, unboxing their new-couple status, leaving only around 2:30 AM.

Sunday we went to the Mausoleum to see Grandma, meeting up with Mom and Brandon and the Aunts, and then went back to Mom's place for dinner. It was a fine night, but draining, the way family can be, including one really off-putting interrogation of inborn homophobia by Aunt Lori, when I really just wanted to make an innocent wisecrack. Monday was another game day, teaching Farkle to Unc and Sherlie. We got to the train around 6:54, got home 40 minutes later, then made some nachos and watched the Masked Singer. I knew there wouldn't be time for writing.

I'm sitting now in the seating area of Longos listening to late-era R.E.M. albums and trying to think of how to end this post and what to do next. I want to write but I'm not sure what.

Nothing new under the sun.

Keep on rockin
Scotto