I wasn’t thinking about caring for other people when I wrote that title, but I realize, man! that is a very generally true statement. I’m incredibly anxious and worried and unhappy right now, and I guess I’m just trying to get it off my chest a little. I feel like I’ve drunk a pot of coffee and been thrown out into the cold with no way to get someplace I need to be.
Other symptoms include the strange urge to clean and reorganize my home. Ah yes, the diagnosis? Pre-finalsitis.
I guess it’s this way to some extent every quarter or semester, certainly since I started taking physics classes. I’ve been particularly bogged down this quarter by an analytical chemistry course than I see now I’ve given somehow both too little as well as too much time to; that is, I’ve spent many, many hours working on this course only to achieve average-at-best grades and no enjoyment, while perhaps I would have been better off spending the time on other classes I like better and for which my hard work might’ve paid off more.
Anyway, that’s not the point at all.
The point is that I care more than I used to. I’ve always cared, or at least I’ve cared since I left the Navy in hopes of doing something else awesome. But I started to care a lot more when I figured out I want to become a doctor. I’ve been studying more. I’ve felt a different motivation to study, to volunteer, to do something extra, to… not get C’s or D’s, I guess is what it comes down to.
I thought it was good, caring more. I thought it was good having a motivation and a dream, but now that all my labor seem insufficient and I’m worried about achieving only C’s and D’s, I feel so much worse because I fear I’m ruining my own dream! Naturally I had to become interested in something that necessitates getting a high GPA. I am an idiot.
Many times in the past I have experienced the feeling of not doing so well at something–could be a physical test, a diet, a commitment of some sort, something academic, a budget, anything really–but comforting myself somewhat with the belief that I would have done better if I’d tried. It’s a comforting thought as well as one that leads to a little bit of self-hate.
But now I am trying harder at things than I ever used to, and not achieving my desired results. I know I can do better, I could shun social media, news, and the gym, for example. But the fact is I am operating at much higher capacity than before, and I am extremely disappointed in how it’s going. On top of it I don’t spend as much time with family and friends as I want to, enough time sleeping, enough time exercising, i.e. taking care of people who matter to me. I lament the ten hours or so I spend in traffic per week. There is so much I’d like to do with those ten hours! So I am undone by my own shortcomings but also by my husband’s and my decision to move to the boonies for significantly cheaper rent and a two car garage (it’s a tandem garage before you feel impressed). I regret it. Life is too short for commuting, and may God please help me never live so far from work again. It is misery. It is inefficient. It is a good chunk of why the earth is overheating and the 6th mass extinction is going on. It sucks. I hate it.
But the hours are numbered, so I must return to studying.