I have no idea what to do with my life. I realize that this makes me no different from probably most people in the world, but that knowledge doesn’t actually comfort me. I feel both stuck and lost, which is a frustrating combination.

Before I went away for Christmas, I spent a few nights sleeping on my couch. My bed was all ready for me, and I thought about sleeping in it, but I needed a change of scenery so I brought my ridiculously soft duvet and a pillow out into the living room and set myself up with my feet hanging over the arm of my little two-seater. On a possibly related note, my neck has felt a little stiff for the past few days.

Yesterday, after I got back from visiting aunts and uncles and cousins and dogs, I reorganized my bedroom. I think I’ve lost some wall space, and one of my closet doors won’t open all the way now because I put a dresser beside it, but I think I like the new arrangement. It feels cozier to look up from my laptop screen in bed and see a bookcase and my bedroom doors instead of closet doors that I’ve usually forgotten to close and a bass that I rarely play. And the length of my bed is no longer against a window. That explains the lost wall space, but I’ve always hated having a window on the same wall as the side of my bed, and now the windowsill behind me almost functions as a bedside table. Today I’ll figure out how to arrange the rest of the apartment.

Maybe this reworking of space will provide me with the change I need, or at least tide me over until I can do something more drastic. Leave the city, look for a new job, apply to Ph.D. programs, join a boxing gym. I don’t know what I need. I started to feel depressed as I re-shelved my books after moving my bookcase. First, I was sad about the fact that I’ve had the hardest time getting all the way through books recently (but that’s a whole separate post). Then I came across a tiny book of quotes about teachers that I got as a gift when I graduated high school. Everyone knew how badly I wanted to be a teacher then, and how much I would enjoy it. And I still want it and I still love it. How could I consider leaving this job for anything? Then I shelved my collection of math books that I won or that I received as gifts several years ago. One set that I got in high school still has its plastic wrapping on. As much as I loved math, I never seriously studied it. It made up half of my undergraduate degree, for crying out loud, but I couldn’t make myself learn the stuff that I found hard. If I had money to support myself for four years without working, I might go to a university and audit my way through another major in math, just to learn the stuff I was supposed to learn the first time around.

But the bookcase sure looks cozy tucked in the corner beside my French doors.

In recent years, I’ve tried to trick myself into sticking with a New Year’s resolution by saying it isn’t actually a resolution, just something I’ve decided to do starting in late December or early January. I don’t know why I think that will work, since I have difficulty with that sort of thing at any time of year. I can’t think of a way to make it happen, but I do know that things need to change around here. The bedroom is a good start, and the living/dining/working area will happen next, but soon I’ll need something bigger.


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