Mostly, I am tired or stressed (work) or bored or lethargic. I am tired of life during a pandemic as so many people are, but I have no right to complain, really. It mostly means that I am struggling with not having anything to write about. We finished watching Six Feet Under last night, and I had read somewhere that the show’s finale was considered one of the best season finales ever. I couldn’t figure out how that could be possible, in the episodes leading up to it, but they were right: it was great. Closure all around, in every possible way.
I get really aggravated watching shows and movies where characters act and react in ways that I find extremely unrealistic. I know, intellectually, that they are doing so because to act in rational, real-life ways would be boring and leave the show with no drama to build a story around, but it makes me just want to smack them most of the time. It’s harder to suspend your disbelief for stuff like that than it is to suspend it for fantasy and science fiction.
Currently, I’m in the middle of an biography about Emily Dickinson, which is excellent (Lives Like Loaded Guns: Emily Dickinson and Her Family’s Feuds by Lyndall Gordon), but reads a bit as if it was originally a thesis paper. I have few people here to discuss it with, since most Swedes don’t know Emily Dickinson from a hole in the wall).
I just looked out the window and it’s SNOWING again. ¤#/=¤!&@!! GAH. That’s something that definitely makes me tired: the early “spring” weather here in Sweden. It teases. It lifts you UP with excitement over a few days of sun and warm temperatures and then flings you down again with sleet and snow and frost and grey rain clouds. Over and over until June, basically (if you’re lucky). I’m already experiencing itchy eyes and extra sneeziness, thanks to early allergies onset. Ugh.
And here, when I am finally getting around to posting something, all I am doing is complaining. Lame.