Well, today I have apparently decided to be pointlessly, directionlessly miserable and pissed off, which is productive.
Part of it’s the fact that I don’t get any time to myself unless I get up at three in the morning. This weekend has been particularly busy and that’s fine, but it pisses me off after a while. There’s no point starting a writing session if there’s an end-cap on it. I can’t explain why, but if you understand then you understand and if you don’t then there’s no fucking point in telling you about it. I can’t start if I know when I have to finish. Especially when it’s in about a fucking hour. I’m going to have to start getting up super-early on weekends too, and I’m great company on four hours’ sleep a night.
Part of it is stress over work, the general atmosphere and the project deadlines and just wanting to be doing something else instead. Boo hoo, don’t we all. I guess I’m just impatient and want unrealistic things. Boo hoo, don’t we all.
Part of it is this God damn bag of shit taped to my stomach that doesn’t seem to have any sort of visible leak but which periodically wafts a maybe-imaginary nose-full of invisible and completely unpreventable shit-reek into my God damn face. All the fucking time.
Part of it is that I have maybe an hour today, by myself, doing what I want to do, and 1 hour in 48 is good for me and it’s one hour more than Mrs. Hatboy ever gets but she never seems to complain, and I complain all the damn time, and that makes me feel bad all over again. And I still need to go and do my walking, because otherwise I feel even worse, and groceries, and all the other stupid annoying chores I have to do. Fuck it. Fuck it all.
Just want to sit and stare at a fucking wall for a day.
Thanks for listening.