So, I'm sitting here with a dilated eye. My computer is dimmed enough for me to look at it, and believe it or not, doing that is easier than having a lamp on. Fucking eye doctor.
Even though I can read now (yesterday I couldn't), I can't concentrate on the reading with a candle being the only light I can stand. I was having a hard enough time reading one of my ethnographies. It's about poor, sugar-farming communities in Brazil. I can barely read 4 pages without feeling the need to cry. It's so frustrating. I feel like I should be doing something to help the people in these poor areas, boycotting sugar or something. And then I realize that I cannot do anything to truly help. I'm trying so hard and I just cannot read that goddamned book. And I have to because I have work due on Friday. 50 pages behind with 70 more for this week.
This is coupled with an overwhelming desire to fix a person I've never even met. And I guess the problem isn't that the futility of such desires is frustrating. The problem is that it genuinely hurts. It hurts when I can't help people. And I feel so RIDICULOUS for it. I'm carrying the weight of the fucking globe in my chest. And the only time I can finally let it out is at midnight, when I should be sleeping. How stupid am I?
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