Jeff's mowing the lawn and I meant to be vacuuming--or SOMETHING--to get our house of the hole entropy's put us in. But. I. Am. So. Tired.

I came home yesterday after my last class, arrived at 2 pm and crashed for three hours. I could barely function when I got up and then I was back down at 10 for another 9 hours. And here it is today, after so much glorious sleep and I can barely rouse myself to have a cigarette. Can't I just sit and stare, comatose like the basketcase I am?

I'm having breakdowns every few hours. Also.

Came to the conclusion that the only way I'll live through this year is to allow myself a daily breakdown. I do hate crying and I do hate feeling so empty and lost and anxious and alone, all of which teaching inspires in me, but what the hell. If I don't open the floodgates every damned day I'm going to get so jammed that I imagine I'll break. I feel close to that now, frankly.

I know most folks who teach seem to love it. I find this completely WEIRD. I keep trying to understand how to love it, how to at least get some small satisfaction from it, but I plain don't get it. I'm too much of a misanthrope, too much of a jerk, I imagine. I don't care what anybody else learns or doesn't learn, really.

Ah, see. My inner life ain't pretty, y'all.

I feel myself being erased each day I go in. I've been attempting to think of new strategies to make it different. I will try to create a stage persona, Teacher Molly, who has absolutely nuthin to do with me. Do you think that would work? Oh god, let that work.

I miss the library. I yearn for the library. And Monday is the day after tomorrow. Hells.

I wake up from a dream of teaching, my mind moving faster than I knew it could, trying to out-plan itself, trying to think of the next thing and it won't stop it. On a walk to the river all I can think: what will I do for that 113 class? What about 111? Are you ok for Monday? Ok, move on to Wednesday, what's going on in 231? What do you have to do?

It doesn't stop, the incessent planning voice in my head. I feel mad (the crazy kind). I have to sleep in the loft because I can't sleep in the bedroom because there is too much happening in there. The air-conditioning and all the clothes and darling Jeff and the lowness to the ground. In the loft the world is still and flat and removed from the earth. You see?

I'm tired and I'm going crazy and I wonder what is it about me that I can't hack this? Why can't I find some joy in this, where everyone seems to find joy? I just want my solitude and my books to catalog. I want that back. Please.

I'm going to library school full-time next year. That's it and that's all. Let me just get to May 2005 and I will kiss the ground and hug all my friends. I will be returned and restored.