(I will try to get through this post with no cute little onomatopoeia-words used to designate sighs, grumblings, or other annoying noises. This is a departure for me, I know, but a necessary one.)
It's one of those days -- well, one of those clumps of several days -- where I am tense for no reason. Everything in my life individually, is going well. Not fighting with anyone; work going well, having fun; math tutoring hovering between normal and good; dramaturging going well; etc. In the middle of some very satisfying mystery stories, and some very interesting non-fiction. Keeping up with friends, more or less.
And still, somehow, I am tense. But, but, but, I say to myself. Part of it, I think, stems from the fact that I am trying to make friends with my coworkers, so all my shyness and self-retiring-ness is kicking and screaming and crying. Other than that, though... I don't know. I mean, I just have to push on and quit bitching and moaning; it just sometimes feels nice to acknowledge it when I'm all flippy-dippy, instead of trying to pretend I'm not.
I'll sort it out in a day or two, I suppose.
As a quick note -- it's amazing what a difference eleven years makes, especially when ten of them were spent in formal education. I picked up The Hound of the Baskervilles again, which I haven't touched since I was eleven or twelve, and found that it really wasn't nearly as difficult to read as I remembered it being. In fact, Conan Doyle actually has a really straightforward and simple writing style, although I still think he does better work with his short stories than with his novels. Huh. Whodathunk?
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