Exhaustion is a tricky beast. Some days, you’re fine, you can get through twelve hours without much trouble. Other days, you’re better than fine. You can do so much within the time the sun rises to the time it sets, you wonder why you don’t do that much every day. Those weird days though, those are the ones that get me.
I’ve been hit with exhaustion every day for the past week. After going to AynRandCon, coming back and learning I had two exams, a paper, and a film analysis due within a week was like being smacked in the face by five different hands. I’m so tired.
Just writing this blog is taking an immense amount of energy. It frustrates me that I can’t write about more sophisticated, interesting topics that truly challenge my skills as a writer, but I have to acknowledge that this time is hard for me.
My boyfriend reminds me to take it day by day. I know I can’t do anything to get out of my situation right now that wouldn’t jeopardize my ability to come back if I wanted to. I need to be patient, keep giving it a chance, and then decide what I want to do at the end of the year.
Finals are coming up. It feels like midterms just ended. I’m more tired than I have ever been.
Whenever I find myself in a situation where I am consistently unhappy, the first thing my mother will ask me is “have you been going to ballet?”
It’s a funny question to ask a distraught college student, but for me it makes all the difference. Ballet exhausts me, but in a good way. It’s the kind of exhaustion that feels earned and valuable. That kind of tired feet, aching back, prideful smile exhaustion. Sure, it still hurts, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
I went back to ballet tonight after an unintentionally long break. I wanted to go back last week but ended up catching a pretty miserable cold that triggered another problem and extended the illness. In a nutshell, going to ballet would have been a bad idea.
Tonight I am exhausted. It feels amazing. I feel rejuvenated, my boyfriend thinks I’m happier, and I can’t wait for my head to hit my pillow.
When I write my blog on my phone, I know it’s been a rough day. Today, I’m just tired. Sometimes it happens to be a day where I just wear myself out.
Today is one of those does. Tomorrow will be hard. Eventually, everything will settle down.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I either need to drink at least a cup of coffee a day or not drink it at all.
I’ll drink during the weekend, but then not during the week. For the first few days, I go through some pretty nasty caffeine withdrawals. I’m irritable, exhausted, lethargic, etc. I am just not on my game. So, I’m going to start having a cup of coffee every morning and see if it helps me out.
I do like coffee and I don’t want to give it up. This is hopefully the solution, but I’ll continue to adjust as needed.
This week is the Festival International de Jazz de Montreal or the Montreal International Festival of Jazz. This seven-day extravaganza has made my beautiful city infested with tourists, but I get to listen to some sweet jazz for free, so I really can’t complain. This week was tough, Montreal experienced a record-breaking heatwave, but it didn’t stop the Quebecois from getting black-out drunk on wine and cheese while listening to obscure jazz bands.
The festival has brought back some fond memories. The smell of Canadian cigarettes, expensive weed, and Queues de Castor remind me of Carnival in Quebec City and summer nights in Ontario. My cousin used to come up to our cabin stoned, and I remember thinking of how much I hated the stench of pot. Now, however, it makes me miss him and his fearless attitude. He has not had it easy in life, but he has thrown himself into everything he has done with apprehension or worry. I admire that about him.
My grandmother and I used to sit out on her dock, watching the sun sink into the river after a long day of fishing and swimming and trespassing on islands. It was almost as though the star was just as exhausted as we are, falling slowly into the water where it would wait for us to be ready for another day. I would listen to the crickets and watch the dragonflies chase each other. It was peaceful, it became a moment frozen in time.
The Winter Carnival in Quebec City practically trapped me. I fell in love with the province when I was eleven, promising myself that I would live there when I was older. It was true magic to see a carnival made out of ice and snow. Vendors would heat up maple syrup, make little divots in the snow, and pour the molten sugar into them, making little maple lollipops right in front of the kids. Those bitter, cold days in QC hold some of my fondest memories.
Sitting here, in a chain coffee shop at 9pm, with a shitty iced latte and a protein bar, I wonder how I made it all happen. How I truly let my memories of what made me happy shape my future. There is a musician outside, singing on a massive stage, with a crowd of thousands of people watching her. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing.