who the heck knows anything, anyway

Friday, January 28, 2011

This is a misleading post, but the pay-off is good!

Two-thirty p.m. is the Devil's Favorite Time. Ok, maybe that's a little melodramatic of me but, in all seriousness, every day at 2:30 I hit a mental wall and experience a singular mood swing from (A) to (Horrible) in which (A) is a variety of moods, ranging from Tolerant to Awesome, and (Horrible) is exactly how it sounds. For some reason, at hour 14 and minute 30 of the day, I begin thinking about every single thing that I hate thinking about. I can't stop it. Suddenly, in mere seconds, I've gone from being bouncy and productive to being grumpy. There are a few things which could be held accountable:

1. the weather
This seems like the most likely culprit. My natural Happiness Stamina can only hold up against White Cloud Cover (because, really, they don't even have the decency to be greyish. They are boring, milktoast clouds that make me cold) for so many hours.  Plus, I know full well I have SAD, and it's almost February. Which is the deadest of the dead of winter. It's like the Tuesday of the calendar year. There is no hope in February. I mean, the Anglo-Saxons called it Mud and Cabbage Month*. They knew what was up.

2. general stress
'Nough said.

3. vitamin deficiency
I'm taking vitamin D supplements and drinking lots of milk and trying to keep up on being generally healthy, but I'm a bit dubious about my iron levels at the moment.

4. 2:30 hates me
Also viable. I would not put it past a time-ghost to harbor some resentment against me. And, for what it's worth, 2:30 also feels like the Tuesday of being awake--it's kind of a lame afternoon time that should probably just be napped through.

MY POINT: (because there is one--sort of)
When I get down, I read nice articles written by people I admire. It tends to perk me up a bit. Anyhow, everyone knows how much I think 1984 and Animal Farm were definitely not the best books ever (I'm being polite on the internet, because I'd want Orwell to be polite about how he doesn't find my character-driven stories to be all that impressive, either), but you should also know how much I admire George Orwell's ability to write a smashingly good essay. Additionally, his autobiographical account of the Spanish Civil War (Homage to Catalonia) is both honest and beautifully written. I have no intention of badmouthing his talent--I just wish he was better known for his best work. But that's another issue altogether! So here's a link to a fantastic essay about writing and the importance of using good language. My blog is not a very good example of these ideals, but I do aspire to have my lasting work (i.e. my stories) measure up to his standards. I'd like to think that the writers whom I admire, both classical and contemporary, could pick up my writing and enjoy it. It might not rock their worlds or impress the heck out of them, but I'd like to think of them giving me a grin, ruffling my hair, and saying "that was a wonderful read, my dear."

(in my writer-fantasies, all the great writers are my grandpa, and they are all unconditionally proud of me)

*it's a violation of my academic sensibilities to cite wikipedia and not so more research, but this blog post is not really aimed at being knowledgeable so much as it is pathetic, so it's actually extra fitting. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/February#History