Oh Jesus Christ. Oh, Jesus Jesus Christ.
I'm sitting here bawling, and giving myself a headache, and I totally deserve it. Procrastination will make you cry. While I should have been preparing the deposit, or sorting through the thousands of optical frames that are stacked in boxes around my basement, I was actually hunting through back entries of some of Diaryland's more notable web writers.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
Birth. Death. Funerals. Fights. True love. Disease. More death. And now I have a headache, because I needed a good cry. And I'm furious with myself, because I feel like absolute fungus these days, when I should be laughing. I should be like Liberfreakingace and laughing myself to the bank because of This Awesome Opportunity that's dropped down into my lap. Instead, I'm wallowing in my own discomfort and geographical unrest. And fright. And the size of my goddamned, tiresome ass. There is a ball of anxiety that matches the dimensions of your average ping pong ball rolling around my innards, treating my body like a pinball machine; except, instead of flashing lights and bonus plays, I get shortness of breath and gas.
Let's put things in perspective here, Mare! Let's do some math!
Free trips to London!
Enough to eat? More than enough, thank you.
Regular salary? Check.
Why, then? Why does the sight of anyone around me these days make me want to gouge my own eyeballs out with wasabi-stained chopsticks? Why is everything pissing me off? Why do I want to wake up every morning just so I can pick up the phone, push some random numbers and yell down the horn, "Get off my ass! You suck!"
I have some anger, I think.
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