My Mariah Carey moment
Unfortunately for the purposes of this blog, I also have not started rambling incoherently on the Internet or had a feud with Eminem, both of which would probably provide some much-needed entertainment value.
However, I fear I am increasingly incoherent and shambolic since this past Wednesday, when varying types of caca hit the proverbial air-circulation device. For whatever reason, various portions of my cerebral-affective system went into a bizarre shutdown mode which the remaining portions of my frontal lobe have only been able to monitor in a kind of fascinated-yet-frustrated astonishiment.
My head gets fuzzier than it ought to, and no amount of caffeine- and protein-loading seems to help. I have self-diagnosed that nebulous state called "exhaustion" and am allowing myself to simply lie down and sleep whenever I start becoming even weirder than usual.
Unfortunately, because I'm no Mariah, really, I am unable to check myself into a posh hospital-and-rehab-center combo while putting my career/life on hold. I am reduced to sacking out on the still-broken couch with Mouse amid a periodically ebbing and flowing sea of clutter until I wake up to particularly vivid nightmares and try to go about my work again for a while.
I'm being astonishingly unproductive, but I'm hoping that my course of treatment will help me get through this little phase quickly so that I can get back to business. In the meantime, I apologize in advance to any of you--especially those who know me IRL and will probably have to witness more of my symptoms--in case I seem more than usually forgetful, strange, distracted, or discourteous.
And I absolutely, positively promise not to make a very bad movie about an aspiring academic who won't let naysayers, hardships, or stiletto heels stop her from chasing her dreams.