After-Tutoring Thoughts

I am pretty tired, but I don't have my dayjob on Wednesdays, so that's pretty nice.

I'm sleeping at my apartment tonight because I had a student near it tonight and possibly two others tomorrow that are also close by.

I don't like going to the apartment anymore. At best, I think of it as my "frigidarium." Most often, though, I think of it as a "cold, empty place." There were a few times where I would watch Netflix shows; I don't watch shows of my own volition too often, so it was a nice change. I canceled the internet, so now it's just a chilly box of unfavorable memories. I won't miss it.

Werbel? Nah.

Calculus 2: it's lovely stuff. I don't tutor it often enough for it to be delectably vivid in my (sub)conscious, but, whenever I get the chance, relearning/teaching it is very satisfying. I miss math – like the serious, vicious math I had to do when I was getting my degree. Even then, I miss math in general. In my gradual transition to a new home, I've temporarily reduced my tutoring hours. I am definitely glad to be reading and writing more.

It's funny how subtle changes can make such big differences. I was in my parents' guest room, which had a bedside table and bedside-table lamp. Consequently, I read regularly. I have since transitioned to what will be my room for the interim, and I haven't yet arranged a bedside table. There's a lamp; it's just far enough away that I'd have to get out of bed to turn it off. Consequently, I haven't read a single evening since I've slept in that room. I've roamed Facebook and played dumb, little apps. I'll figure it out. Not today.

I am tired. I even did my back exercise yesterday. I like to think I have diabetes or something, but it's probably just that my body is flimsy from all the not exercising.

Have you ever felt a flare of joy? Most days are pretty awesome lately. I've pretty much given up on fearing. I have a swanky job. I get to hang out with my family pretty often. Even so, there are these occasional flares of joy, like overwhelming bursts thereof. If I ever do get back into exercising, I'll be a bubbly mess of energy.

What shall I do when I get to the apartment tonight? I am currently bunkering at Starbucks (where I tutored the young man).

I only brought one book: "A Praying Life." It's excellent. Nevertheless, I am much more easily drawn into novels. We'll see: maybe I can find an unread novel in my frigidarium.

I am full of yawns. And iced tea. I really like humans. I really like naps. Naps make me even more tired afterwards. Who was it? I recently spoke with someone who, though their company is overall lovely, fatigued me because of the vast energy required to follow their words. I just remembered who it is. It is a dear friend. This dear friend requires a lot of energy to follow in conversation.

I make so many decisions based on how much energy I want to expend. Having different outfits throughout the week? Too much energy. (I bathe and change underclothing regularly, but I wear the same outer garments for, like, ever.) Thinking of other examples that require too much energy? Too much energy.

I don't know if it's because I'm a non-exercised pansy or if I devote such monstrously huge amounts of energy to certain things that I cannae spare much else. Why not both? Who knows.

Starbucks closes at 9:30. My 7 PM student cancelled tomorrow. I wrote "cancel(l)ed" both ways on purpose. I'm tutoring a new student on Saturday. I want to write about Werbel, but his story is bedraggled enough to make it a daunting consideration. What the blazes should I call his story? I'm inclined to have "Meadowvale" in the title, but it seems too limiting. What captures the heart of the story? What IS the heart of the story? Family? Loyalty? Freedom? Defeated injustice? Redemption? Can I just abandon it? NO! No. No no. No no no. I need to finish the bloody thing if only to build character.

I like people. I want to talk to people. I want to hear more stories. I once read of a man who strolled around the city with a sign that said something along the lines of "I'll give you $1 if you tell me your story."

The world is so big. Too big. I'm just this guy. I try hard. I'm just this guy.

I'm torn between napping, writing about Werbel ...

Maybe a sketch? A scene? The scenery for Werbel (at least in my mind) is bland. The village isn't vibrant. The lizards' tunnels aren't vibrant. The training hall isn't vibrant. I haven't devoted my heart to them. It needs terrain. I need terrain. I imagine it's like an artist looking back at some drawing he made in high school: the subject material is immensely nostalgic, but the drawing itself is dreadfully mediocre. But he has already spent so much time on it. But it'd be such a task to refurbish it. But it was one of his favorite subjects. But it might just be easier to start the whole thing over. But some people are fond of what he's already accomplished. Blardy blardy blar – in the words of Rumpelstiltskin. (What a strange name by the way.)

With all the whining I do about Werbel, I probably could have finished him already.