So, here’s the deal. Every time I have some time at home to sit down and write – I mean really WRITE – and I actually DO (sit down to write, that is… like physically sit down at the desk, turn the computer on and all that fun stuff) … nothing comes out. My brain’s all, “Oh, hey! Finally! An outlet! It’s about time! *PFFFFFFFFFFffffffffftttt….*”
Annnnnnd nothing. All day long (well, maybe not ALL day because I do, you know, actually work while I’m at work (contrary to popular belief)) I think about all my stresses and how writing alleviates that stress and I think about all this other really great stuff I’m currently in love with that I’d like to share with y’all… and then? Nothing. A big fat effing nothing.
By the time I get HERE, my head is all bills and late fees and ohfuck we-have-less-than-three-weeks-until-we’re-homeless ohfuck. By the time I get HERE, Solitaire is open and I’m all “I just have to win ONCE and then I’ll do [fill in the blank].” And then I lose SEVENTEEN GAMES IN. A. ROW. And then I forget about writing altogether because seriously, whoever invented that game must be simultaneously shot and celebrated. Who knew such a simple game could be so addictive? WHO KNEW.
By the time I get HERE, I feel lost among the pile of dishes here and the multiple piles of laundry there and good lord the piles of dog hair EVERYWHERE, not to mention the piles of worthless shit I’ve acquired during my 23 years on this planet that I desperately need to just throw. away. already.
By the time I get HERE, part of me doesn’t even want to be HERE anymore. I’d rather be on the couch or, more likely, in bed. Because I shit you not, I have been asleep on a regular basis by 10 p.m. every night (because I wake up at 5:30 every morning). This coming from the girl who was almost always still awake at 3 in the morning and could, without a problem, sleep past noon daily.
I mean, not that I don’t sleep in on the weekends now. It’s just that sleeping in is more like 10 a.m. than 2 p.m. now. Hmph.
One last note? If you hear anything about some missing dogs in my area, who may or may not have been shot and buried in somebody’s yard*… just go ahead and ignore that. It’s not like we’ve had A SHITLOAD of effing dogs in our yard for the past two weeks, SCRATCHING ON THE FRONT DOOR and nudging the sliding glass door in the bedroom and waking us up in the middle of the night trying to get to Callie because she’s in heat right now. Nope, that hasn’t happened. Not once.
*I’M KIDDING. I’M SOOO KIDDING. We would. not. do. that. I yell and scream at the bastards, and maybe throw some sticks at them, but I would NEVER hurt an animal. But the owners who let them wander around the neighborhood constantly? Yeah, they’re a different story.