Have you ever been so incredibly busy that it feels like you’re doing nothing at all? Yeah. Feeling like that. Most of the stuff I’m doing would be supremely boring to most of the people who read this, and that which may be interesting to you all, I find I don’t want to talk about. I don’t get it. I’ve had a blog for nearly 3 years now. And up until this year, I have posted nearly every day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Is all my creativity getting sucked out in grad school? I don’t see how, considering I’ve written all of one paper this year (on the verse forms in LotR, fascinating stuff, actually). Maybe it’s getting sucked into my job? Very possible. I’m spending more time at it that I am on school, and let me tell you, I’m doing some pretty hard stuff. Nothing I can go into detail about, being under nondisclosure, unfortunately. Maybe that’s part of the problem– being legally forbidden to discuss that which takes up most of your waking hours. Makes sense, in a perverse sort of way.
And I’m so tired. So tired. Maybe it’s winter doldrums (although the inversion has cleared out, the snow looks lovely on the ground even when it’s melting, and I don’t particularly mind the cold except when I have to scrape my windshield in the morning). Maybe it’s all work and no play. Maybe it’s post-wedding letdown. Maybe it’s just the same junk that’s been haunting my existence for the past four and a half years. But in any case, I can barely drag myself out of bed in the morning. I skipped work today (partially because I had very little to do, partially because I hadn’t gotten all of my Le Morte D’Arthur assignment read) and slept in, and it felt wonderful, but I’m still just as tired as if I’d gotten up at 6:30 and went on my merry way to work. I look at myself in the mirror and can see little more than the dark circles under my eyes, and I wonder if all of this is really worth it, and if I’m not just fooling myself when it comes to what I want and what I can accomplish and whether any of this actually means anything to anyone other than me, and do you really belong where you think you do, Emily Bytheway, and will any of it actually make a difference, and just who are you, anyway?
And just ignore all of that. I’m not really feeling that conflicted (although I do still feel I have very little to write about anymore), I’m just tired and hungry and cold and I’ve been reading Bujold, and you know how *that* can be. Memory gets me every time. Gah.
Still want to marry Gregor Vorbarra. Anybody know someone like that they’d like to set me up with? 
Now, I should probably read a bit of Matthew Arnold, given that I’m going to be giving a presentation on him come Friday. *sigh*