So this is what goes on in my head some days:
Oh, I have to go do that thing today because it has to be done tomorrow. Let me just make the coffee first.
It’s 9AM. I should start, because I don’t want to do this all frigging day, I want to chill with the TV and some knitting this evening.
Oh, I have to go to PetSmart and Staples and should probably hit Jewel. But I don’t want to do that yet, I need to get this thing done first.
Let me just put the crockpot on.
I have to check my RSS reader.
I’m going to put on some nice mellow music and chill out, so I can think straight.
It’s almost noon. That means I have, like, 7 hours left of practical work time. Okay, I’ll start at noon.
I’m going to get the kitchen timer because that trick always works.
I need to finish this first. Let me just finish this first.
If I write this down, I can stop thinking about it and go on to do my work.
Okay, I’m going to put on music with words in another language so I can’t think along with them.
You are fucking driving me up a fucking wall.
The kitchen’s a mess, I should do the dishes.
I think I’ll make tea. Tea has less caffeine, I’ll be less stupid.
I wonder if I should do laundry or if the short work-week means I can get away with the clean clothes I have now.
I’m cold. I should put on a sweater.
I liked that speed-reading class yesterday, even if I do already read really quickly. That 3×5 card trick was cool, I’m going to have to use that. Do I have any 3×5 cards?
Wait, do I have any rice to make to go along with these red beans in the crock pot? Am I seriously going to have to go to Jewel after all? I fucking hate Jewel on Sundays.
It’s after one. I cannot think straight.
Christ on a pogo stick. Why can’t you just sit down and concentrate? It’s like only two fucking hours of work and you’ve fucked off all day.
I wonder if I really should hit Jewel today. It’ll be stupid-busy the rest of this week because of Thanksgiving. I can go to PetSmart tomorrow. I’ll have to hit Walgreen’s or something on the way to work tomorrow though to get those divider thingies.
Is it sugar? Did I eat too much sugar today or something? No more goddamn Smarties, ever.
I should plan what I need to do around the house. I will write that down so I don’t forget it.
I wonder if I had a glass of something alcoholic to drink if that would cancel out the sugar. No, that’s a bad idea, isn’t it. Does just thinking about that mean I have a problem? Is this a crutch? But is having a crutch really so bad if it’s a, like, once every few months thing? This is deeply stupid, forget I said anything.
I’m not listening to this Mahler. I can practically sing along to it. No, that’s out, and that. Why don’t I have more music in my collection that I don’t know how it goes? I could put on WFMT, but they’ll probably have a pledge drive or more German opera again like last time I really needed them to play something, and that clearly won’t work.
You know what would go really go well with red beans and rice would be if I made some cornbread. Am I out of cornmeal? Do I need to go to Jewel?
I am losing my fucking mind here, can you just be quiet for ten fucking seconds? Will someone for the love of God remind me why I went off the anti-anxiety meds.
Seriously, what ancient god did I piss off that I’m pushing 32 and still can’t have clear skin? It’s just deeply unfair to have to worry about the impact of benzoyl peroxide on crowsfeet.
I’m just going to check — no, no new mail. Nobody’s ever going to buy this frigging Louet, I’ll never get to buy that Lendrum.
I wonder if I could take a nap, and if I could, if it would help. Too bad I don’t nap.
OH HAI, now it’s after two and I’m still out of my fucking lunatic head.
I could go clean the house, sweep and, like, pick out DVDs I never watch to put in the to-donate pile. Maybe that would help.
Oooh, Amazon has that box set on sale. I shouldn’t, but … oh, let me just read the reviews.
I should really return those boots I can’t wear to Zappos, I’m sick of looking at the box.
Fuck it, I’m getting a glass of brandy. Brandy has less alcohol than Scotch, right? So it’s not really cheating if it’s not, like, something I love. Anyways, it’s afternoon now, so fuck it.
I wonder, if I were to take up smoking weed, would that fix bullshit like this? Ah, your natural-born pollyannaness bites you in the ass again. If I were a stoner, I wouldn’t get much done, but then again, I’d probably be happier about it. Oh well. It smells funky anyways. Probably explains all the people wearing patchouli, like that chick yesterday, their noses must be acclimated to ugh.
I’m hot. Why’d I put on this sweater?
Fucking sit down and shut up and quit being distracted by all the blinky shiny jesus christ what the fuck with my fucking head???
I have to go update that thing on Ravelry before I forget.
This is why you never did well in school, you know. Dumbass.
I have to reschedule with L. after she bailed yesterday. Tuesday?
I wanted to go ice skating today, too. Dang.
Of course the punchline is:
Maybe if I go write a blog entry about this, I’ll get it out of my head for a little while.
And the post scriptum:
Forgot to close that <em> tag… and oh hey, two of those are out of order, that doesn’t make sense in context, gotta fix…
Personal to our FBI, CIA, DEA, alphabet soup, ATT-circuit-snooping corporate overlords: I am not now nor have I ever been a stoner. So quit with the plotting to strip-search me at the airport next time I fly, jerkwads, and don’t think I don’t know you were thinking about it.
So that’s been my Sunday. Hope yours has been more productive.
