tid bits

New developments in my life that really only me or those closest to me might have any interest in but it still feels good just to write them down:

I now need to wear my glasses to see the text on computer screens just a few feet from my face. I hope this is due to stress levels and not eyesight deterioration. The first time I thought I needed glasses because I couldn't see the front of the classroom, the optomotrist told me my sight was fine any only impaired because I was under too much stress (true) and/or not getting enough sleep (also true). While these two things are still true today, it's a different kind of stress (rewarding) and a different kind of lack of sleep (worth it). Bottom line: If glasses become an essential thing for me, that means I'll need/want contacts and I hate the thought of contacts. Ugh.

I'm noticing that I'm making more mistakes as I type. Ever since I had a computer (Christmas 0?...a hulking Gateway beaut in that monochromatic cow-print box) I've been anal retentive about being error-free, punctually/grammatically/mechanically correct. I usually still maintain the latter, but my typos are getting out of control. "Out of control" in my eyes for this particular subject would be noticing an error once a week. Then I cringe at all the errors floating around in cyber-space with my name attached to them that I have missed. (Maybe it's because I can't see the effing screen.) It's a pride thing. Everyone is entitled to vices.

I've become buddies with a woman in my nonfiction workshop. She's older--30's--peppy, cute as a freaking button, hilarious in a very neurotic way and she's kind of brillant. She's a professor of Neurobiology and is taking a writing class for "fun." She's invited me to a gathering on Friday with other friends of hers who are probably super-smart and I'm a bit intimidated. At one time she was the elite of the elite in cutting edge science at a major university in I-forget-where. However, she doesn't exhibit the signs of the genius who must inevitably be severely lacking in some other element of their life. She appears completely normal and well adjusted and presents herself this way (as I hope I do too despite what's under the surface), but from what she's written, she's had some fucked up times. This is what I LOVE about nonfiction workshops: we share some of the most personal stories and experiences and vulnerabilities with one another and throughout the course of the semester, everyone has seen everyone else's, so we're all on the same team. This semester has been probably the most fulfilling in all my years in school. Our little, 11-person class has evolved into a pretty tight-knit community and it's because we know things about one another that sometimes just a select few people in this world know about us each.

Order is finally being restored to my life. Why? Because it needs to be. Because without schedule and organization and meticulous routine, I'm a mess. And it's always my fault because I always feel like I need a break when I think things are getting bad, and no matter how many times I've been through it before, I temporarily forget that breaks always make things worse. Denial is a powerful and terrible thing and if I had three wishes, #2 would be to never experience it again.