Where’s my corn nugget?

It’s Monday already. Already! Got to pull it together soon. Things to do this week. Can’t hide inside with my music and games. Got to go out among THEM.

I no longer choke on the ash of laughter. I am not crying (and sure as fuck hope this post doesn’t fucking set me off AGAIN!). Not too bad but not ready to deal with the world yet. Still want to hide and be safe. Lucky for me I’ve nothing world fucking shattering going on.

Swimming is never a chore, never a bother. And my swim day, Tuesday, remains one of the best of my week. I’m up too early to mope around and feel awful. Before I’m completely aware of myself I’m out the door walking in fresh air. Then it’s sweet water! Maybe I’m connecting with that whole womb feeling. I feel free in the water. My shit drops away from me for an hour each week. The zen mode I can achieve swimming gentle laps is addictive. Added benefit: it wears me out physically for 48 hours. I don’t fidget or pace. I even take naps.

Friday is the monthly open mic night. I don’t even feel like going right now. I’d rather sit at home and watch tv. For one thing, I’m still not feeling settled on what I’d like to do. And maybe I should do NOTHING this time. Just sit and be sociable. Meh. I haven’t even turned ON my fucking groove box to begin the long process of resetting it and then reloading it with my new material to even THINK about playing it this Friday. Too fucking lazy for one. Too emotional for another. And the weather’s been shit this past week. The walk to the place is a bit long. Carrying an extra 5 kilo of equipment isn’t sounding that fun. Plus the metro line is out and I’ll have to walk an extra bit to pick up the alternate line. So bad weather, long walk, and heavy equipment are all sounding like reasons to back out of my idea of taking my new techno down to groove. And of course all of that can flip on a dime.

Today I GOTTA hang out here. Expecting delivery of my injections. I shoot up once a week for my RA. It’s hard every time, to puncture my own skin with a needle. BLAH! Every time I hate it, and every time I remind myself what I’m like without the injections – unable to move, agonizing physical pain. Uh, no. Losing access to my meds ranks up in the top 2 reasons to jump off a tall building (or, to be more accurate I’d be crawling up to the roof and sliding myself over the top railing – no jumping at that point!). So I happily hate to shoot up. I adore my aversion to the needle. I love to loathe Thursdays, when I take my shot. Cause it keeps me going.

I don’t even want to be out here this morning. Don’t want to talk about what’s going on with me. Nothing’s going on with me. I got an award thingy I just can’t get around to posting about. I just feel fucking LAAAAZY.

Got to find one fucking thing to move ahead with today. One thing I can say ‘well, I got a step closer’ with. It’ll probably be the fucking house cleaning. My fall back for comfort: clean up the clutter. I supposed I shouldn’t be so negative. It’s days like this that keep my place in a minimum of cleanliness. Wish I could apply myself a little more persistently. Touch and go with me. One day a slob, the next a neat freak. Fucking madness.

PAINFULLY fucking aware that all my blog posts to date would add up to one hell of a good sized book. Now if only they made coherent sense! Can’t write narrative this way. I’ve fucking tried and it’s damned difficult. Letting myself go leads to pages and pages of nonsense that goes nowhere. I have to keep bringing my mind back to my subject, re-reading previous paragraphs to pick up my train of thought. If I could just blast it out like the shit in my head I’d have been a fucking novelist a long time ago.

I feel like a fucking hamster on a wheel in a cage. Round and round and going nowhere.

Fuck it. Fuck it if I have to beat a dead horse to get myself out of it. Whip that bitch! Flay it down to the fucking BONE if I fucking have to. I’ve been shown no mercy so why I should I in turn have mercy in ridding myself of these fucking bullshit triggers and baggage that I never fucking wanted to carry in the first fucking place?

THANKS MOM, YOU SUCK. And sis? My original still stands: GO FUCKING KILL YOURSELF.

I’ve said it and it doesn’t make me feel better today.

Oh fuck it. I just woke up my brother an hour fucking early and it’s not like he sleeps easily. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fingers not working now. I’m a fucking idiot.

It’s fucking 9 am and I need a fucking do-over already today. Shit. I’m screwed. Pulling today out of the fucking pile is going to be a monuMENTAL fucking job. I’m already kicking myself. shit, shit, shit.

Job 1: stop beating myself up. It was an honest mistake. A flaky mistake, no doubt. He said don’t wake him up before 10 am and I just didn’t hear it, I guess. Fuck. I hate my fucking flaky mistakes. Too fucking absorbed in my own fucking problems to hear what other people say to me. AAARGH!!!!

How the fuck am I supposed to do THAT? How the fuck am I supposed to fucking let go of it when sometimes it’s been the ONLY fucking thing …….

Wait a minute. I wrote that yesterday. ‘The only fucking thing’. How many ‘only fucking things’ do I have? I can’t even come up with any other than what I’ve just noticed. So that probably means I’ve got a lot, ’cause I’m perverse that way.

Shit. I’m in the shit. Where’s my fucking corn nugget of truth today?


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