Too Chicken. Way too Chicken.
Me and my dumb ideas.
Birthday Blog Countdown, eh? Grand idea. Make yourself write. Use it as motivation.
Stupid, stupid idea. Who am I kidding? I wasn’t ready. The timing is all wrong. It’s not safe to write right now.
Not when I think I’ve gone through every possible bit of the emotional thesaurus at least a dozen times in the last five days.
I’ve written things… but nothing I am brave enough to post. It seems that I am not very capable of writing light-hearted things; everything that I write is the result of a lot of introspection, and this has been a bad week, which not only means that I’d have a lot of complaining to do, but the topics would all be really heavy and stray into things that are hard to talk about.
So I am not going to post anything of any real value tonight, because I am, in the term of an honorary aunt, a crab-ass tonight.
Because I got sick at the start of the week.
And hit by a pitch.
And because some men are really, incredibly frustrating.
And because the air conditioning at the office breaks every stinking year, several times a year, and heat makes me ANGRY.
And because I need a vacation.
And because the person I want to see is impossible to see.
And because this morning was stressful and dumb even though it was pretty much all smoothed out before my boss got here and the rest of it was smoothed out like I crossed my fingers that it would.
And because I have been sleeping terribly.
And because the stupid LA Kings won in OT in game seven tonight and that’s just the big nasty cherry on a crappy week. I hate the Kings.