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?


Volcanos and Bacon and Me

Two hours later:

Not shown: living room and dining room, equally unfucked!

Then I put the chicken we had for dinner last night in the stock pot with some onions, hard chorizo, and apples so that I could have amazing stock for all my cooking needs.

Chuffed with victory, I decided to take Unfuck Your Habitat's advice and go after our kitchen floor with VINEGAR. Our floor is off-white and seafoam green checkerboard, which is a really hard color to keep clean as it looks slightly dingy even when clean. The vinegar worked well! So I decided to put some baking soda in the spray bottle to help whiten up the squares.

Only for a moment did the back of my brain go: wasn’t there some kind of science fair thing kids did with this in movies where they have science fairs, but you did not do because your school didn’t roll that way?


So basically, I just stood there letting it spooge all over itself and onto the floor which is where I was going to clean anyway. A WINNAR IS MY SCIENTIFIC EDUCATION.

I’m kind of skivving off dinner and making BLTs, which is my favorite sandwich OF ALL TIME. In the sandwich Olympics, it salutes the goddamn flag and makes the East German judges cry tears of bacony redemption.

But also, you know, dead easy to make and on top of that I am not actually making the important part which is the bacon because though I can make French pastries and shit when I make bacon, no matter what, this is pretty much what goes down:


So my dinner duties will consist of slicing bread and tomatoes. IRON CHEF CAN’T BE ARSED BATTLE.

Now on to work-work. It’s only 5:30 pm. Should be fine.


Day 5: Days of Wine and Unfucking


Ok, seems small. Like, whatever, right? But you gotta get excited about the small milestones! Ten pounds is made of of one pounds, and so is twenty. Also, I’ve been kind of plateau’d, so breaking that barrier is HYPERYAY.

Beast made the bed because he got up last and is teh bestz and knows I am trying to make it a Thing. Also, I made a big breakfast for my visiting BFFs—aebleskivers, which is my DANISH SIDE COME TO REPRESENT AND BURN DOWN YOUR INHIBITIONS AND PILLAGE YOU WITH LOVE ALSO MAYBE GET SUPER DEPRESSED AND SOLILOQUY LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER.

And that’s probably all I’ll get done today. Guests take precedence.

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