On Monday I had to stay late at work to finish some banners. I think that’s what screwed this week up for me.
I’m exhausted and from what? Well, in no particular order: going to physical therapy, sending out Christmas cards, doing improv, binge watching Game of Thrones, working a couple of late nights, worrying about unbought Christmas presents, going to the gym, and trying (and failing) to make some Christmas cookies.
All of these things are rather mundane activities that I have chosen to do of my own free will and yet I’ve felt completely worn out this week, too worn out to write. It’s been three days since my last post.
As you may or may not know, I have caved to the peer pressure to consume Game of Thrones. I watched the first two seasons, then vowed to read all of the books. The show, however, has proven to be far more enjoyable so I’m rolling through all the seasons. I’m about to end season five and I’ve got to tell you, I think it’s taking something out of me.
There’s only so much power hunger and greed and backstabbing (and good old fashioned frontstabbing) and torture and rape and murder that one can take. My friends who watched this show watched it once a week and even then they were scarred. I’m Clockwork Orange-ing myself with this show.
I’ll say this, though, it’s great having a girlfriend who knows this show so well. I can text her about any event at any time and she knows exactly where I am in the show (seriously, like episode title, roughly when it happens in the episode, and how she and the public at large felt about it at the time).
So, yeah, this is what’s wearing me out. I’m sure single parent coal miners in the army reserves can sympathize with my circumstances.
I have one more day of work in 2018. I’m looking forward to the holidays but the end of the year creeps up faster and faster.
Alright, I have some more Game of Thrones to watch. I said I’d take a night off for some mental rest but that’s not how binge watching a cultural phenomenon works, apparently.
I have seasons to go before I sleep.