On most days I am living the dream. Really. I’m the me that 17-year-old me always wanted to be. Honestly. Couldn’t be happier about the way things turned out, especially given how they were a year ago. That said: The worst part of three-job freelance life is being on “vacation” and yet still feeling, while working yet another 13-hour day, this baseline crippling panic that I am forgetting to do something, that one of the bajillion balls I have hurtling through the air is going to come crashing down, and then all of them will, and then I will realize this has all been the world’s most un-dreamlike dream and I am actually still just a failing academic, it’s actually March of 2013 and I’m getting ready to go on the “secondary market” and send out my dossiers, and what’s my Interfolio password again? Did I forget it? Did I?
Between clients, deadlines, events (some rather large; more on that soon), and a new thing cropping up every twenty seconds, I basically just live in constant terror of fucking up. As a result, one of the half-dozen stress-related health complications I developed while in Ohio is back. (And yes, I count thwacking myself in the eye with a giant rubber band stress-related, since I never would have found myself in “Full Body Challenge” if I hadn’t been stressed out to begin with.) I’ve been clenching the everloving fuck out of my jaw again, and as a result my already-bad TMJ (stand next to me when I yawn if you want to get really grossed out) has worsened, and I’ve developed, for the second time in as many years, a “sprained tooth” (long story, super dumb, very painful).
Some vacation, amirite?