Monday, February 19, 2007


I knew this was going to happen. It always happens.

The process of moving out of the apartment and moving home was planned within an inch of its life. Even so, I'm still constantly running up against distractions and screw-ups.

The last few days in the apartment came upon us out of nowhere, and I quickly realized that my productivity was going to drop to zero without my even trying to slack off. And, I was Ok with that. I knew it would take a little while to adapt to new surroundings, and being without Hubby to talk to all hours of the day.

I didn't really realize how much I depended on having him around to keep me calm.

I allowed myself to take Sunday completely off, and not even worry about working. It was only a little relaxing (even though sleeping in was heavenly). I found myself immediately falling into my worst habits - taking care of everyone else. I made dinner last night for Mom, and made sure she got to bed early. This morning, though, she had some fairly substantial dental work done quite early. I got out of bed, made myself some coffee, and had breakfast. And, when she got home, I made sure she was OK, got her some ibuprofen, and set her down for a nap.

And now... now what?

I'm sitting here, in the basement (the TV isn't even on), and my boxes of papers are all circled nicely around me, the computer is set up (complete with functioning internet so I can do database searching), and I'm absolutely paralytic.

The thought of opening up the thesis document, even just reading it over, makes me sick to my stomach. All I want to do is call Hubby and ask for some reassurance, but I don't want to throw him off his game down there. He's so excited about the new city and the new apartment and the new job, and I don't want him spending his time worrying that I'm OK.

(not to mention the fact that, as a 29-year-old woman, I'm being lectured by my father - who's 1000km away - about phone bills and how I can't talk to my husband when I need to because it costs too much money)

It's strange to feel like the adult in the house, and like a highschooler, both at the same time.

This is really thesis-based; perhaps I'll double-post.

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