Blue January Ends

 The toughest month for me since the pandemic began is drawing to a close. December was no cake walk either, but at least I had tangible reasons to be stressed--my housemate testing positive and the drama it caused, not being shortlisted for the jobs I had applied to, etc. January was just blue. At its worst, I experienced anxiety like I hadn't since 2017. I always knew this winter would be long and tough, but anticipating something doesn't prepare you for it. It just gives you the satisfaction of saying you had anticipated it. But, life started looking up towards the close of January. Going back to working from the PhD office helped, as did keeping up my daily routine of yoga and blogging. Last week, I was offered teaching for this semester, which would give me something to do apart from my PhD. At the depths of the month, I always knew it was just a question of waiting it out. The Covid situation would improve as the lockdown and vaccinations took hold, the days would get longer, and I would move closer to finishing my PhD. 

Junk Food Dinner

One of my previous housemates, for all the trouble he put us through in his final weeks in the house, left a freezer shelf full of junk food. I am not a big fan of junk food but enjoy the occasional pizza and burger. I would never buy a freezer full of frozen junk food though. For one, it would take ages for me to get through it because I am too health conscious to eat it often. But, junk food bought by someone else and bequeathed to me is a completely different proposition. There is none of that slight guilt that comes with spending money on junk food. And, for some reason, eating other people's food gives me a strange feeling of satisfaction which I should definitely explore in a future post. I've just popped a burger and an unhealthy amount of fries into the oven. Let's see if frozen junk food is any good. I plan to watch it while watching a reality show about rich vacuous Asians in LA--from the "so bad, its good" genre. Junk Tv to go with junk food.

Change of Scene

 Today, I just couldn't work on my PhD, and around midday I had started to think that the day would be a write-off. I had tried reading up for my first week of teaching and couldn't get past the first page. S, with low expectations for the rest of the day, I decided to work on my article review after lunch. I thought it would be a slog, but I got rally immersed in it and the hours flew by. I only wish I could immerse myself into my PhD in the same way. My PhD writing has been so fitful and sporadic that writing every sentence feels like heavy labour. Maybe that's just the nature of the beast. I realize that I haven't lost my ability to write because I have managed to write motivation letters for job applications. No one prepares you for the demands that a PHD puts you on your patience and fortitude. But, I am glad to have some work outside my PhD since in the current circumstances I doubt I would be able to relax even if I take a break from my PhD. And taking a break without being able to relax only increases my guilt at not working. If I have other stuff to do, at least I can tell myself that I am not idling, just moving my plans around. If there is work to be done by a certain deadline, it doesn't really matter whether I do it 4 weeks or 4 days before the deadline. I always knew taking my mind off my PhD from time to time would help, so I have decided not to work on it at least until Monday. 

Luck Turning?

 The past two months have been the most difficult of this pandemic but maybe my luck is turning? This morning, I got an email asking if I would be interested in teaching next semester. I need to teach to improve my employment prospects with the department and some money is always welcome. Today's email was in response to multiple emails from me asking if teaching was available, with the first email sent in mid-Dec. So irritation at the delay in getting a response and the uncertainty over whether I would be teaching this semester had been getting to me. Now, a decline from Cambridge won't singe as much. I had been dreading the prospect of no job prospects and no teaching over the rest of winter and spring, with only my interminable PhD to keep me occupied. Today, I also initiated contact with a friend I had fallen out with as it is her birthday. As I have written before, birthdays are perfect occasions to mend fences. And, at the tail end of the day, just as I was girding to leave uni during a rain shower, I got an idea about how to resolve a hiccup in my PhD. I know, ideas in the mind sound great until it is time to put them on paper. I have no doubt I will struggle to write it, but at least it is progress. So, since the sun seems to be poking out from behind the clouds, time to get ready to make hay.

When Big Trees Fall

 I feel like a grasshopper in a forest with big trees falling all around me. I am small and nimble enough so I am not personally in physical danger from the falling trees. But the falling trees are remaking the forest and the forest is my  home. I can't even describe how I feel. It is not confusion because to be confused one must have at least some interpretation of an event /situation/relationship.  I feel like I completely lack the intellectual framework to even form a crude interpretation of what is going on. It feels like I am at a pre-confusion stage, like the Native Americans who couldn't see Columbus' ship because it was so  alien to their senses (which I know is a myth). This feeling of alienation encompasses my personal and intellectual life. The whole world seems to be on fire. There have been riots in Holland since Sunday, the farmers' protest in India saw violence today and the Covid shitshow in the UK continues. At such a time, my own problems seem irrelevant. They feel like old-world problems at a time when the world is being radically reshaped. It feels like I can't even put my problems into perspective. For instance, not having an academic job when no one knows what academia will look like on the other side of this. Or wanting to stay on in the West when the West feels like it is a few months away from a complete meltdown of the social order. Not knowing what to want can be both disconcerting and liberating. I have realised that the best thing I can do is stay afloat and let the current take me where it will. 

The news from India dominated my attention today but I can't for the life of me make out whether what happened today is good or bad. Usually, I can at least form an opinion, which may well prove to be wrong later.  But, no, not now. Adopting a fatalistic attitude seems to be the only way to survive. 

Worry Plate

 I have been trialing the idea that one can pick and chose what to worry about at a given point in time, leaving some problems to be worried about later. My shoulder pain, for instance, is something that I am trying to banish from my mind for a few weeks. I feel like I have enough on my worry plate at the moment. I'm waiting to hear back from a job application, I am waiting to hear if I will be teaching this semester and I am waiting to find out if I will make nice with a close friend I have fallen out with. And, of course, I must make allowances for the occasional Covid or other health scares. Like then anxious two days I spent last week worrying if I had caught tetanus after nicking my finger while cutting my hair last week. And, as luck would have it I cut myself yesterday too. So my shoulder pain will have to wait until there is some more room on my worry plate. 

Bin Bother

One thing that has always puzzled me is how our black bin fills up each fortnight. Either my housemates are able to generate an inordinate amount of waste which can't or they don't recycle or someone uses our bin for fly-tipping. So, imagine my irritation when I noticed that our bin was overflowing. The sight and the memory of it kept bothering me so I eventually went out, moved some stuff around and managed to all but close the lid. The person who had dumped the last bag had lifted the lid and dropped the bag without taking any trouble to make it fit. My labour was futile because my ass of a housemate, who moved out today, made it overglow again. He is of Indian origin so I have to actively resist making this a post about upper-caste attitudes towards garbage. After he had left, our bin was looking like a walrus with its mouth wide open. I sent the pic to some friends, and they confirmed that there was no way the bin collectors would pick it up. I told my housemate about it, and she agreed it was a problem, and promptly washed her hands off it, saying she didn't know what to do. I wish I could learn from her how not to give a fuck. But, I do give a fuck, and in Covid times I give more of a fuck than usual. A friend told me to dump the overflow into someone else's bin on the sly. I am not good at being sneaky, which is very un-Indian and very INFJ. The thought of being caught and dying of humiliation is too much to bear. I thought of asking my weird neighbour who barely ever puts any bins out if he had space. But, when I knocked on his door there was no answer. I don't know why houses here don't have doorbells. I sly checked his neighbour's bin, which was full. But, two doors down on the other side had plenty of room. I eventually managed to reduce the size of the overflow because I discovered my housemate had dumped an eminently recyclable carton in the bin. Dumping a modestly sized parcel into someone else's bin didn't feel all that bad.

I am not going to beat myself up about getting worked up about such a small thing. Part of it is my anxious personality and a part of it comes from not wanting to inconvenience other people. It is easy for some people to do that--make their problem someone else's problem, especially if there are no likely repercussions. It is not easy for me to do that, and I don't feel why I should feel ashamed about it. I frequently clean up after my housemates, sort out the recycling when they miss it up and I am the only one who ever bothers to clean the common areas. I have decided that I will not allow myself to feel resentful about it, and have largely succeeded. I like a clean house and a quiet house, and I can do more about the former than the latter. I decided that as long as my housemates didn't disturb my sleep, I would tolerate their unclean ways. But, having our rubbish go uncollected because a knobhead dumped too much stuff while moving out, is annoying. I managed to sort it out, and I don't expect any gratitude, just like I don't expect my housemates to even notice that I keep the house clean. So, I find little to fault with my approach.