I’ve been in a Thought Catalog-style funk the past few weeks. This doesn’t usually happen this time of year–I love autumn, and I still have a month to go before the pumpkins are out and the candy flows like trans fatty water. But so far this week I’ve just been burying my head into my possibly flee-infested pillows and not checking my email.
Academic burnout: it’s possible that I can, as the internet would say, haz. And all for reasons that are a) pretty objectively sucky and b) completely out of my control. These are my favorite! Like a root canal without Novocaine! Or a honey badger to the face!
So as to distract myself from the encroaching sense of “bleurgh,”/”I am going to cry in my car now because I Have A Lot of Feelings” I’m compiling a list of my favorite things from my favorite season. Feel free to add your own, bloglings.
Indian corn: Something about me just goes all a-tingle when there’s Indian corn to be placed festively in baskets. (Native American corn? Technicolor dream maize? I assume that “Indian corn” is probably considered impolite at this point in our collective history.)
Pumpkin beer: New on the list, for legal reasons. But I do so love booze and the taste of seasonal gourds together. Now if only Terrapin would quit selling their pumpkin brew in four packs instead of six…
Today was a weird day. I found out after class that my dog was put down last night. This further confirms my theory that no conversation started by my father with “Hey Em” (or “Hey kid,”) ever ends without something horrible happening in it.
Linguistic weirdness aside, I didn’t think this was a particularly sad thing. The dog was very old for a greyhound, and had been very sick for a long time. She was put down at home, and as far as doggy lives go she lived a remarkably good one. I was bummed out, but we all knew it was coming.
Then I returned to the host compound of unusually spiked emotions, where–after my host mother told me she was going to whip me so I learn Wolof, because that is the way to make your host child less scared of you of course–I spent most of lunch trying not to cry. (Which, to be fair, not the first time that this has happened. This is just the first time that the reason for the tears wasn’t in the room while I was eating.)
After I finished lunch (and the subsequent mostly-joking fight with my host mom about how I hadn’t eaten enough), I retreated to my room, where I broke down sobbing.