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The Infernal Spring of Frusticipation

January 5, 2014

God, I feel restless.

I reckon, in the internal machinery of man, there must be a spring or metronome or something that oscillates back and forth, beating out everyone’s unique rhythm. It speeds up when fed strong doses of caffeine and gradually shudders to a near-standstill after so many hours awake. Some people’s spin quickly and others spin with glacial tempo. I have a friend whose spring must be solar charged – quietly ticking over by day, discharging all its frantic nervous energy at night.

I also think that this spring must spin at different rhythms. Some days, it spins so slowly that even getting up in the morning is as hassle. Other days, it spins with such violent speed that it threatens to shake loose its casing. On those days, I have to do everything I can. Write, read, run a marathon, study, cook a tagine, learn the violin. And I have to do everything at that exact moment!

I feel like that today. Since I couldn’t find anything else that restless wandering itch, I thought I’d write about how restless I am.

It’s a January thing, I think. Everyone gets so damn long-sighted at the end of December. The new year is considered in its entirety. For example, my year will feature at least:

  • Final exams
  • Elective
  • Graduating from medical school
  • Starting work as a doctor

On paper it sounds like a busy year. So many things to do and that’s just the headline stuff. That doesn’t take into account all the smaller things that fill up my social calendar. (Sometimes, I think my entire social life is a construct, a malicious and cunning ruse to keep me from reading books) So this year is filled with things to do and I’m getting wound up because I haven’t done any of them yet.

Checks the calendar. January 5th.

It doesn’t help that I’m still in the brief respite the college terms a Christmas holiday. None of the other major players in my life right now are in motion. I’m still waiting for them to get in gear. It is like waiting to go to a party in the hall, because all the other housemates (who said they’d be ready half an hour ago) are still getting dressed and made up. There’s anticipation mixed in with frustration. Frusticipation.

I’m right to feel frusticipated after all the excitement for New Year’s Eve. What a non-event. One of the biggest parties of the year (2013 or 2014, take your pick) celebrating a calendar technicality, like setting the clocks back. And then what? In most situations, normal business doesn’t resume for at least a week.

Where does that leave me? Limbo.

The Romans had the right idea. Their calendar ended in December and picked up again in March. All the time in between was a bit bleak, a bit pointless, a bit not worth bothering over – like a plastic bag being blown around a graveyard. Then, they could jump into the new year with both feet, getting right back to all the feasts and conquering and orgies with gusto.

I am frusticipated by a hangover of a calendar period, after a massive party but before any of the good stuff of 2014. The furnaces of my frusticipation are being fanned and fuelled by that infernal spring of internal rhythm.

Change the gear. Let it bite!

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