Worry wart

Recently, I couldn't sleep. I bought cheap wine last week to do the trick. But I drink ever-copious amounts of coffee a day, plus the unprecedented amount of stress from work and errands combined. Writing is becoming a luxury. Books and zines are becoming a thing of the past. I haven't acknowledged this fact until now - now that my four year-old is about to enter school. I have also applied and got accepted for a part-time job as a social media consultant at an online blog. After that, sleep is becoming a four-hour affair. Food choices get greasier by the month, and belts had to be loosened every meal. A peaceful weekend is unthinkable. A night-out with friends meant losing more sleep or earning less. I've been stuck with Chabon's Manhood for Amateurs a little more than a year now, and it's shameful. My normal state of mind is work, or errand, or making mental notes. For someone who used to take pride in having memorized world capitals, my inability to remember names is a source of pain. The prospect of taking a postgraduate degree is becoming too... far-fetched. But I try.

I like this quote from Samuel Beckett's Worstward Ho: "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better."