Day Something Something: Unfucking: The Next Generation


So what happened? Well, you know, shit. Basically, I got super depressed, which thing cannot be unfucked by blogging.

I don’t really have anything funny to say about it. Depression is the motherfucking worst. Trufax.

And also, I let every project go. Accordion, writing slowly, being a person you’d want to spend time with, any hope of a clean house, everything.

Instead I cried on the inside and dragged ass though a novella, a novelette, leaving a publisher that was screwing me, a trip to Finland, a trip to New York, a trip to North Carolina, and the advent of summer, a season I only barely tolerate.

And I’m not gonna lie, finding these gifs takes like nine times as long as the post itself. When you can barely summon up the faith in life to like, make breakfast, it gets daunting, yo.

But I’m better now? At least moving toward better. Which means getting my ass back in gear because things, they still get fucked, and need unfucking. Plus my husband is starting a new job tomorrow, and it is a really good one. A really good one that allows him to work at home full time. So we’re reorganizing our lives, and YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THAT SHIT.

Tonight I unfucked my office. It was a goddamned mess. Crap all over the place. I made it pretty! I even windexed the dog’s nose prints off the window, as that is where she runs to man the gun turret against the Eternal Mailman Threat.

And in cleaning, I found a thing I had never noticed before on the windowsill, left by some previous tenant or child.

Aw. Point taken, universe.


Day 44: Federal Bureau of Unfucking

I got no writing done at all today. Bookstart was delayed by research roadblocks, and I’m way behind.

What I did get done—yesterday I got a haircut and other various body-maintenance procedures including GOING TO THE DOCTOR like a BADASS (I am terrified of the doctor). And cleaning the kitchen while having a fight with my husband. MULTITASKING. Then stayed up half the night unfucking a social situation.

Didn’t sleep well. Duh.

Today I committed bed-making, teaching a group of folks over at the senior center how to use a Mac, and picking up my animals from their vet checkups. Making dinner (roasted lemon chicken, arugula salad, parmesan pesto bread). Maybe half a blog post.

But no work. I just unraveled at the end of the day. I have no me left.

I’m trying not to feel bad about it. I can’t do anything to fix it. Telling myself I’ll write 10,000 words tomorrow is unhelpful and lolleriffic in its unlikelihood, so I just…I don’t know. Gotta keep on. Accept that some stuff will probably be a week late and hope that the publishing gods forgive me.

I feel really drained of creative energy, to be honest. Scraped over too much bread. GODDAMMIT I HAVE TO STOP LISTENING TO BON IVER IT’S ONLY MAKING ME EMO AS SHIT.

Anyway. THE THING IS I want so badly, so terribly badly to be this guy:

I want to be Dale Cooper! He is my spirit animal. I want to be all slick and competent and intuitive and enthusiastic and FUCK YEAH DAMN FINE COFFEE DIANE TIBETAN ROCK THROWING.

But most of the time I’m this guy instead.

And every night I swear I’m gonna be Dale Cooper tomorrow and some days, very few and precious days, I almost am. But today I was a panda on a rocking horse. Motherfucker.

Maybe tomorrow, I will be a better girl.


Day 40: Cool Unfuckings

We have a TARDIS house full of people!

That means awesome conversation and cooking and late nights. With my heroes and towering legends, because that’s how we roll.

That means little to no writing.

But I’ll tell you what I DID do, for it is a MAJOR THING.

I got amazing astonishing nigh godlike produce at the market LIKE AN ASPARABOSS and I could not fit it in the horrible fridge face putting it in with the three months old leftovers.


Now, I was so focused on AW YEAH JUST TACKLE THAT BITCH DON’T STOP DON’T LOOK JUST BRAWL that I forgot to take a before picture. You are just going to have to trust me that it was a

There were like four things of cottage cheese from 2011 and unnameable unimaginable horrors and possibly the Wicked Witch of the West melted in my crisper drawer. And because Beastly was raised behind the Iron Curtain he literally clasped an old-ass plastic wrapped chicken leg to his chest and insisted BUT THIS CHICKEN WILL MEAN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. And I was all:

But now the fridge looks like TA DA:


Also that is my dog.

Possibly next week I can triage the deadlines and fix it up. Possibly I have entered the Gonna Be Late, Nothing To Be Done Zone. Either way, CAN I GET A FRIDGE AMEN?


Day 35: Everyone <3 Unfucking


Yeah, I don’t even know. In the minus column, I didn’t make my bed or tidy up much of anything (by which I mean anything at all) or fold any of the three baskets of laundry that need to be folded.

The plus column is complicated!

I could NOT get up this morning. Just flat exhausted, second day in a row.

On the bright side, I have a sweet outfit on today. Black skirt with green swirly stripe, green curvy top, long brass tassel necklace, toast-colored clog heels. Booya. Did my makeup and everything.

Beastly was super stressed about his deadlines and I’ve been super stressed about mine. I got us breakfast at the cafe and dinner ingredients so I wouldn’t have to bother with the whole WHAT SHOULD WE HAVE FOR DINNER Eternal Debate. (Saffron-Honey Carnitas with Cumin Guacamole. I have been told my carnitas are comfort food.)

I went to my office. I’ve had these poems due for several days and every damn line is like PULLING TEETH. GOD.

I’m days late starting on the novella and novel because of these poems, and I guess I’m sort of done with them mostly but I am DUBIOUS as to their quality and it was SO HARD. BARF. I’ve just dragged myself to the end of both of them and sort of hate myself and feel like I’m already behind on the major projects because of it.

Came home, practiced accordion, which I hadn’t done for two days, and my performance can be summed up as blerrrrrg.

We got an accountant like motherfucking grownups. Intake appointment tomorrow. I’m terrified.

I don’t know. Today sucked. Yesterday sucked. I did things, the plus column is bigger than the minus and I can’t say I failed at the day, but every one was SO HARD. SWAMP OF SADNESS HARD.

ARTAAAAX. YOU STUPID FUCKING HORSE. YOU HAVE TO CAAAAAAARE. Though technically speaking it’s not the Swamp of Not Giving a Shit. That place would probably be pretty chill.

I live in hope of a good mood landing on me tomorrow. OH WAIT ACCOUNTANT. UNLIKELY.

Food. Drag Race. Poem editing. Moose pajamas.


Anonymous said: I've been lurking about, watching this project unfold and admiring you for it. It takes a lot to be able to admit the way you live your life isn't really working for you and to take steps to fix it. It's not about saying "There's something morally wrong with me if I don't clean" - it's about seizing agency and finding what works for you. You've inspired me to try my own grand unfuckening, and the level of chaos in my life is starting to seem almost manageable. So thank you, and rock on.

You know, part of me always wanted to be a muse—for a long time I had so internalized the idea that women inspire and men create that even though I was making my own fairly awesome things it still bothered me that I didn’t “inspire” anyone. That my ex-husband had once told me, not even in a fight or anything, with a casual shrug, that I inspired nothing in him. It bothered the shit out of me.

I’m over that now. I got my head on straight with regards to that anyway. But how funny is it that I have managed to be a Muse of Mundane Triumphs? The Erato of Unfucking, the Clio of Fixing Your Shit. the POLYHYMNIA OF GIFS. URANIA OF CAPSLOCK. (Obviously in this scenario, UFYH is Mnemosnye, mother of the muses.) 

I like inspiring in my old age. It’s a good gig. Turns out you can do both.


Anonymous said: I just wanted to say that I've loved reading this, the ups and the downs. Mostly because I'm relating like woah. I do feel better when I've gotten dressed and made the bed and picked up my room just a little. It seems like it's a ridiculous thing, because it's so little, but it works. And it was you posting to this blog that made me try it for a while and realize that it DOES work. I feel like an actual adult when I make the bed and get dressed. Thank you.

Thank you! It helps to know this is a worthwhile thing. Last winter, I barely ever got out of PJs. You should see what a SOPHISSICATED BITCH I am today with my heels and my top that matches the subtle green in my skirt! And that stuff, you gotta feel it and celebrate it because it’s as much a part of life as the flashy stuff like fighting and sex and family and holidays. Same with bed making and house tidying—not necessarily krazy kleaning but just picking things up.

At least, that’s how I see it. I spend most of my life dressed and in a house! I should do that mindful Buddhist thing about it.


Anonymous said: I'm sorry, some of us are new to tumblr and quite stupid. I've tried to search tumblr for gifs (using the tag #gif + the emotion I want?) and google (gif + emotion) but I don't find anything. How exactly should I be searching, and on google should I be on images or normal search? I feel like I shouldn't be finding this so difficult & I would just leave it except I am, like you, motivated almost entirely by animated gifs.

Ok, so basically what I do is google for something like “awesome gif” or “yay gif” or “Buffy gif” or “Community gif” and often the first hit is the tumblr tag for said thing. Meaning, the url is tumblr.com/tagged/whathaveyou+gifYou need a space in there, and you need to pick a basic emotion like “angry gif” not like ” phlegmatic gif” or “complex relationship with willpower gif” or whatever.

You can also try any of the above with gifs plural and usually get different results. If you want to drink from the firehose, just go to tumblr.com/tagged/gif (or gifs).

This is how I find most of my gifs, although a couple have been made for me by awesome people. There’s also gifsoup, which has a ton and will let you make your own from any Youtube clip, and most movies and shows are all over youtube.

This has been your How To Guide to Gifs.


Day 30: The Bridge on the River Unfucking

Welp, I broke the Not Posting gap by answering a question so I might as well TELL YOU ABOUT MY DAY.

Basically, my body has adjusted to my ADD meds—which also help my anxiety and depression immensely—and I need to increase my (really very small) dosage. I found myself all:

And it wasn’t normal or good. I stopped making my bed or doing the dishes, I didn’t get any writing done at all—though I did keep practicing my accordion. I’m not proud. I’d been hiding under the couch all terrified of the sun and anxious and depressed and avoidant and like I WILL NEVER FINISH EVERYTHING HUG ME FELINE FRIEND. EMAIL IS TERRIFYING.

TURNS OUT I ACTUALLY NEED TO BE MEDICATED WHICH IS WHY I HAVE MEDICATION DUH GURL. I’m a little better now, having doubled up my pills until my doctor appointment on Monday. Yesterday was not too bad. I practiced, did the dishes, made the bed, wrote a short-short story and made roast chicken with chard and mushrooms and garlic for dinner, then conferenced with a student for the better part of an evening.

I have not been great with getting up early (my goal was before 9) BUT I have been up by 10:30 every day, and usually by 10, which is WAY BETTER than I was averaging before when up at noon was a good show. I have cleaned the kitchen, tidied up the living room, taken care of the chickens, practiced my accordion, and tweeted and blogged a bit.

But now I have to go to my office and work and SHIT YOU GUYS I have let this get bad. I have two poems due Saturday, neither of which I have any ideas about, a novella by 4/15 and a novel by 5/1. I think I still have it mathed so I only have to do 2000 words a day if I start the novel on Monday, but that still means doing the novella alongside the novel, which sucks anyway, but if I do 1000 words on that a day I’m still within my 3000 word limit and it’ll still be the most pleasantly paced novel writing I’ve ever done. Just have to get those poems done. Always knew the writing would be the hardest to unfuck.

Can you tell I used to be an obsessive counter? (Knitting fixed it, yo.)

I have no idea what to make for dinner tonight. Something with food. I’m trying to just get dinner ready before Beastly gets home—not because he’s a MAN and I’m a LITTLE LADY with slippers and cocktails at 5 and shit, but because we can be done eating by 6:45 and have an evening if I just organize my time and turn it out.

I love cooking, it’s the figuring out what to cook that sucks.

Or we can be done eating at 8:30 and have barely any time fore Mr. 6 am needs to go to bed. He makes breakfast and lunch on the weekends. I feel secure in my feminist boots.

So yeah. Slowly coming back to the land of the living. I should get my tits on and go to the office. Latrice, mama, you wanna play us out?


Anonymous said: A suggestion. (Anxiety and bipolar; a year and a half ago I couldn't leave the house. I know a bit about unfucking a life.) There is no moral high ground to putting away clothes. It's just clothes. No adulthood badge conferred for waking up at 7. Writing a book in 3 months instead of 4 weeks is not a more perfect method. You are already a functional person. So rather than try to change, or 'unfuck', yourself by some scale good to bad, just figure out what works, what keeps you sane and happy.

Here’s the thing. What makes me feel better isn’t universal. It will not make everyone feel better. In the popularity of this blog it seems to have gotten lost that this is my space, and it was never meant to be anything more than that. I’m glad people like it, but it’s meant to be a shield to keep out sadness, as Movie!Max would say. If I feel like I’m a better person for having put an article of clothing away (believe me, it was just the once) then I should be able to say so without being told I’m fine as it is and there’s no point to that.

I’m not fine as I am. God, obviously, or I wouldn’t have started this thing. I’ve not posted in over a week because I have had excitement with medication adjustment and have been depressed and anxious and miserable—and I’ve let the house and my work go and it’s all piled up again. I’m not fine. By MY standards. My current situation does not make me sane or happy. But I’ve never talked about good or bad, or implied that I’m better than anyone else for trying to dig myself out of a hole entirely of my own creation.

I’ve honestly managed to get pretty frustrated, as the mild, kind suggestions that maybe I shouldn’t use the f-word anywhere that can be linked back to me because I sometimes write books for kids have started to crop up. I feel like my job weighs down even this thing that makes me happy and more functional. So to be told on top of it that there’s really no point to anything I’m doing here, don’t try to change, I’m fine if I don’t wake up early or clean my space or fix my work habits really is just the cake and the icing too.

Yeah, I know I don’t get a badge. (Except my beloved gifs!) Thanks. But this IS figuring out what works and keeps me sane and happy. That is the same thing as unfucking, for SERIOUS. There IS a moral high ground because one makes me feel competent and able and balanced and one makes me feel miserable and my morality involves not making more misery in the world.

Please, please don’t tell me not to do this stuff. It’s not helpful. It doesn’t release me from some great burden to be perfect. I’m not perfect! IT’S A FACT. If it triggers some trauma in your heart from your own past, don’t read girlunlocked anymore. But I need this, and I shouldn’t have to feel bad for needing it. I also need to wake up early and put things away and write more slowly because these things objectively improve my life.

I realize I’ve unloaded on you a little here, but it’s very upsetting to be trying as hard as you can to fundamentally change your life and have someone dismiss those efforts in this way. I’m not functional. Or else I wouldn’t have to blog about making my damn bed like it’s some kind of Red Sea parting miracle.


Day 23: The Prisoner of Unfuckaban

I put my clothes away after taking them off to put on my BADASS BEAR PAJAMAS instead of leaving them on the floor!

I HUNG UP A BLOUSE. RIGHT AFTER I TOOK IT OFF. I may not have actually done that since like 10th grade.

SHUT UP, you know it’s easier to just be like: YOU! CHAIR!


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