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Monday,
June 19, 2006
Oh, God
Imagine that being said by Rowan Atkinson in his best Blackadder
voice, and you get how I'm feeling during the daylight hours. There are many,
many things about my life that I absolutely adore -- the gorgeous Bodacious
Brit, my fabulous furbags, a writing career that, while not hugely prolific
or remunerative, is still kinda nice, an apartment that looks great when it's
clean, being debt-free, yadda yadda.
And then there are the daylight hours. Eight of them, to be specific, in which I grind my teeth, bang my head on my desk and seriously wonder if I'm being gaslighted (Nance, I sympathize with you, beLIEVE me). And of course I can't go into detail because that's a big no-no these days, blah blah, but Jesus Hashimoto Christ.
I dunno -- maybe I should start locking this journal so that I can be a little more forthcoming? Or at least a little more entertaining -- I was looking at entries from a couple of years ago, and damn but I used to be funny. These days, my entries are pallid, anemic shadows of what they once were, mainly because the last thing I want to do when I get home is write something fun (which probably explains the lack of prolific output on the fiction horizon, too). Actually, what I really want to do when I come home is go straight to bed and not wake up for a hundred years. And no, that's not good.
And yeah, I'm working on the situation. But in the meantime, try to bear with me while I chant mantras and try to keep myself from doing something I'll regret. Reminding myself that jailhouse orange clashes with my hair something wicked seems to help.