I am in bed all morning, I don’t even know what I did, read the remaining boring pages of a 700 page, otherwise good book. Looked for a new book fighting with Amazon’s stupid algorithms, I am quite capable of searching for a book by author, do you think you could follow my theme? And why do you keep opening a new window when I am searching, I don’t want a new window. And no I do not want to read number 127 in the series of pulp fiction sci fi novels. Or the library algorhythms, what the hell this is a book for 12 year olds, do you not have science fiction for grown ups? NO? I just want a meaty cannot put it down, science fiction novel like the ones Sherri Tepper writes, no zombies, no vampires, no android sex scenes, no alien dominating male sex scenes. Just a good story set in outer space. Nope. Not possible.
I have a headache and my back hurts. I had a massage yesterday and have been eating like crap for three days, including divesting my body of water. I am dehydrated, I don’t even get up to pee from 730-noon, only peeing then because of habit.
The house is dark the coal stove suffering through its last dregs, the house smells like someone spilt sour milk, and un brushed teeth, and feet and cat litter.
I don’t want to go to class. I don’t want a critique of my work, because the way things are going I will crucify myself after someone says something off hand and thoughtless while I suffer in the dark dungeon of my psyche.
I suck at art.
I should be spending my money on travel instead of art supplies.
I am just getting better every day, I am 48 fucking years old, what the hell does that even mean?
I feel that thing inside me as my leggings do the MC Hammer, and my shirt does the first season of Star Trek TNG as I yank it down again and again. My nipple itches (don’t ask, doctors appointment tomorrow) I cannot find my eye glasses, I cannot see. My brick won’t reach the plug so I can type and read at the same time as I charge the iPad don’t even get me started on the 8 inch cord they give you anyway. Where the frick is my phone, dammit I wasted the whole damn day. There is dust on the thing I want to take a picture of, there is clutter in the background. My face itches like crazy. The dog wants to go out, she won’t come in.
Irritable on the inside.
As I shower I think, it’s time to give up painting. When I was pregnant 25 years ago a co worker Janet something or other Hartoonian, I think, told me that I would have to spend less on make-up (mascara and lip gloss at the time) and give up painting for something more practical. It might be time to heed her advice.
i am like an over tired infant, arching my back and screaming
or a fourth grade boy shrieking all day at my own madness
shut up, silence peasant, that’s enough dumbass, okay nut job you can stop now, wtf Meg?
I stop and breathe, I notice my aggravation. This is why they want me on meds.
But right now fat ass you are trying to avoid being a diabetic.
shut up. Just shut up.