Quotes heard today that mean something to me (a quarter to anyone identifying the sources) —
“Announcing your plans is a good way to hear God laugh.”
“You can’t always survive by being practical, you have to leave room for a miracle.”
“Conserve water, drink wine.”
I’m on the edge of a major breakdown . . . fucking major big-time shit. STOP READING RIGHT NOW CUZ I’M ABOUT TO RANT . . . I’m overextended, overwhelmed, dys-fucking-functional . . . my head won’t stop aching, my arms, my knees, my legs . . . I just want to go to bed and sleep until it’s over, until the snow comes and the emails stop coming, until everyone gives up on me and just goes away. I need an igloo in the middle of the artic or something. Someplace with a cold relatively stable temperature and no contact with the outside world. Fat fucking chance of escape that way . . . and what then anyway? I have bills to pay, need many jobs to live, it’s a fact of my life. I can’t afford for everyone to go away. I can’t afford to hide. I can’t afford a fucking igloo. But too many people want stuff. And it’s not that they want much, individually, but when you put them all together . . . it’s a lot. I’m overwhelmed. I’m having anxiety. I’m a little fucking stressed. I know. Before you fuckin’ comment or send emails or whatever, I know already. I told you not to read the rant. I warned you. I know it’s my own fuckin’ fault for getting into so much stuff, I don’t need you to tell me or withdraw requests or empathise or sympathise or anything that will make me feel fucking worse than I do already . . . so please resist the urge to try and help me . . . I just need to blow steam and then fuckin’ finish SOMETHING I’ve fuckin’ started for fuckin’ somebody somewhere so I can fuckin’ cross it off the fuckin’ list. With all that fuckin’ I’m bound to shoot to the top of the search engines for any porn requests, don’t you know. Ha! Ha! That’s me being funny in the face of the wave.
God damn hurricane season. God damn rain! If this is the way it’s going to be here . . . I don’t know . . . maybe I really am nomadic . . . because today, today I would move in a heartbeat . . . I can’t wash the fucking dishes because my fucking hands hurt too much to hold the glassware . . . that is just fucked up. Where is the snow already? The below zero weather? I am so ready for it. We go below zero and my pain subsides. It’s all this crazy fall weather, all this rain . . . every day it rains! I need a break, a reprieve, a recovery period . . . you can only handle so many days of severe pain and then you go crazy . . . I may be already there, but I’ve been trying to ward it off by plying myself with alcohol. But then I can’t do the PR work while under the influence, which causes great stress . . . least I don’t think I can do it, I’ve been unsuccessful in my efforts so far . . . this isn’t to say that a whole bunch of papers aren’t just about to get a bunch of press releases I won’t remember writing . . . maybe it is something I can do in my sleep, maybe monkeys can be trained to the task . . . maybe . . . we shall see.
Drinking: coffee mixed with hot chocolate and a splash of cognac
Listening To: Umberto Tozzi, Ti Amo
Hair: Bah! Who the fuck has time to care about hair?