So here I am, unable to sleep for lack of proper bowel movements, just coming off a newsroom episode viewing and looking at a random journalism internship posting that has me laughing silently. Listening to one of my dance mentors talk about a class he went to that I would have killed to go for but couldn’t because I didn’t find out about it till it was too late. Feeling really proud of him and how far he’s come and marveling at how far each of us has yet to go. Thinking about the internship that I’m starting tomorrow morning at 6.30 that has me staying far from my home during a holiday which I isn’t a holiday as much as it is a short transitionary work period between the end of my penultimate year in university and the start of my final one.
And I’m just sitting here, blogging. Thinking thoughts about feeling useless, about how I wish I could do more, and despite the position it feels like I’m not needed at all.
It would seem like there’s a lot on my mind to most people. Some would say I’m overthinking everything (you don’t say, Sherlock.) Some would claim I may be suffering from depression. Of the mild variety (How in the world can you be mildly depressed? That’s like saying you’re only SLIGHTLY high on crack. Doesn’t work that way does it? Cue judgements, ranging far and wide, on my complete lack of awareness and extreme stupidity which in most cases would be justified.)
Me? I call it a Sunday night alone with my thoughts.
Time to hit the sack. And pray it doesn’t hit back.