The great thing about Unhealthy Ezmy’s life was that she was able to avoid her own ridiculous thoughts. The coffee-fueled madness meant she worked like crazy for hours during the day. This was quickly followed by lots of wine, cooking, and conversation with wine drinking friends. By the time she went to bed, there was no energy left for complex thinking/worrying.
Healthy Ezmy has waaaay too much time on her hands for thinking. It’s not that I’m not busy – I’m actually ridiculously busy. I’m a research assistant, a teaching assistant, and a thesis writer. Plus I’m always writing something to send somewhere so that someone can read, and promptly reject, said something. And I have to spend time with my cat, my new roommate and the wonderful ladies and gentlemen from school.
But I’m finding myself with more and more time on my hands for thinking. For example, part of the Healthy Ezmy routine has been trying to get to bed at a reasonable hour (read: not 2am). This means that around 11pm, I head to my futon on the floor with a little Dostoyevsky, a cup of chamomile, and a head full of ridiculous thoughts running the gamut of “Where will I work when I’m done the PhD?” to “Should I cut my hair again?” to “I wonder if people see the colour green the same way I see the colour green and how would I know if they did?” to “I wonder what time it is in A. land?”. I worry about how we’ll ever buy a house and if I’m going to be able to afford the doctorate and where we’ll put Z-bone if we have to move out of state. I develop complex plans for decorating my non-existent house. I put together guest lists for parties that I’m not even having and worry about the number of people that would have to be invited so as to not hurt feelings. I mentally go through my student debt and feel like vomiting.
In short, I don’t sleep. I suspect that once this new schedule takes hold, I’ll be fine. But I’m too alert for my own good these days.