Oh, Girl Code. How is it that you help so much? I need a wise-cracking, visual version of a Sassy magazine right now. I don’t even mind the seven hundred metric tons of advertising that gets dumped on me when I try and watch you. I guess. I don’t know. I have had a long day, a whole-ass Tuesday, you don’t really care that I think I back-tracked out of my own McGyvering to resolve a work problem and hopefully didn’t take other threads with me was I went. We had a long conversation about color palettes, and the messaging of art not intended to carry our message. I had opinions, I dealt with a few things, I tried to deal with others. I drove in the morning, hey let’s not forget about that. Trying to make the therapist happy and get my driving in. So there’s that, and now, trying to find some horrible person on OKC to talk to. Literally, there are only horrible people there, me included, and I am tired and over it and I think the plan is stupid.
Not really, but right now I am just incapable of rational thought. I sort of want to stab my brain and let this pressure out. That’s more intense than I mean, but my head and neck are killing me right now. As per usual. I’ve mentioned this before. I don’t know how to fix it because I don’t exactly know what is aggravating it. I am keeping it perfectly straight. I can’t just be here and type this, I want to zone out, I want to have already written this. I wish I’d had a spare moment at some point earlier in the day where I could go on and on and take care of two hundred or three hundred of these words, just knock them out and then, wouldn’t I be in the catbird seat?
I made bow tie pasta, added basil to the sauce to make it real artisanal and had those thin, fake, never seen in real life but apparently are super Italian breadsticks that stand straight up and sit in one of those vases and salad like a normal meal might be. That was nice. Not having another dinner out of a bag. It does, however, throw me off. As good as it was, I feel like I ate too late. A contributing factor in this whole thing of hating the universe. I am going to try and cook a bit more. If we can keep that kitchen cleaner, I think I would. Being domestic every now and then does seem to make me happy.
Still, there are parts of that which leave me wanting to scream into the heavens, break the sky, and have spasms until my spine shatters.
I am very melodramatic today. How are we going to get through this one, chums? The same way we do every night, Pinky, by cobbling a bunch of inane shit together and pushing the publish button.