March82012

Day 16: Terms of Unfucking

I’M BACK, BITCHES.

Where I’m back means: hiding in Beastly’s office because it’s the only clean room in the house (he has gotten in on the unfucking craze like WHOA) and there’s nothing to eat and everything is a mess and my Maine coon is all LOOKIT MAH MATS I MADE THEM FOAR YU and emails are piling up wibble wibble hide.

I want to unfuck my packing situation. I hate unpacking and I usually put it off as long as possible. Like, I emptied a bag still packed from OCTOBER to go to New York. Whatever, I’m not proud. (I am proud though, really. Also doubleplus ungood.)

I had this image of Today, of unpacking FIRST and organizing my closet and coming up with ideas for projects that are due in spring and blogging and then little animated bluebirds would come land on my shoulder and tell me woodland secrets.

THAT GIRL. I WAS GONNA BE THAT GIRL.

Instead I’ve been hiding. I took a call from my agent and made my bed. That’s all. I’m having the OH GOD anxiety of so much to do, also what order do you do it in, also I’m STARVIN MARVIN.

So instead of a princess I am this guy.

THIS STORY DOES NOT HAVE A MOTIVATIONAL OOMPH AT THE END.

I’m just still sitting here at the computer paralyzed, and also even making this entry felt like DEFUSING A BOMB on the Effort Scale.

First day home is fired. I’m fired. Is it possible to grow a turtle shell specifically for disappearing in?

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