I might never write again if I wait for a time when I'm rested and feel like I have something to say. I'm going to do what I tell folks who tell me that they have writer's block: I'm going just to start writing. So here I am, just writing.
I'm behind on reading. I don't like being behind on reading because it's how I communicate with so many of my imaginary internet friends. One day, I'll be back...one of my jobs ends in 4 weeks, so then I'll be back to working something closer to 40 hours a week. I am powerless over all my jobs, and my life has become unmanageable. I fear that at the present moment, I'm doing a haphazard, halfass job at everything. I'm a bad wife, a bad friend, a bad writer, a bad teacher, a bad lover...I'm exhausted, but I'm trying.
One of my favorite things in the world is to find a perfect piece of art to go with my posts, and I can't tonight. I tried, but nothing looks perfect enough. Nothing looks like anything.
He's in the other room, on the couch. One day, his ass is going to atrophy and attach itself to the fucking couch. I want him to get a fucking job. Did anyone know that I want him to get a fucking job? Extra! Extra! Read all about it! The junky's wife wants Mr. Junky to get a fucking job!
It's not news. It's old, old, old shit, and yet it feels raw and fresh. His unwillingness and inability to find and keep a job is going to make our marriage end. It's the thing that will break me finally, I think. Especially right now, when I'm working so, so hard to try to get a little ahead on the bills, and when I get home after being gone for 15 hours and he gives me shit about how I'm not fulfilling some asshole need he has...it makes me want to put his dick on the grill. Not his dick by itself, mind you...his dick still attached to the rest of him. I want to put his dick on the grill, balls down. Or maybe put his dick in a sandwich press.
It feels good to stick to my boundaries, even when it makes him into a fussy bitchmade baby of shit. Apparently I cuss too much when I'm tired and angry and overworked. That's interesting. I'd thought I was cussing less in my life, being more aware of my words and more aware of my thoughts. I wonder what other of my self-improvements are slipping away?
OK, I've done a blog post! Writing is how I make sure I still exist, so it's important that I keep it up even if I do an embarrassing job of it. One day, I'll be a clever writer again. Probably that day will be this weekend after I get a full night's sleep and a day of doing not much of anything. Until then...