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What she’s doing now

I compose things in my head during the day. Little bits and pieces that I need to write about. You see, I’m the type who HAS to write. Whether it be in a paper journal, or here, or whatever. I HAVE to write to keep my sanity. Some people would say it’s too late, that [sanity] ship has sailed. I would tell those people to SHUT UP, who asked you anyway?

So I keep telling myself to write. But I get up, feed the kid, work until afternoon, hubby gets home, we get busy with the kid, and later supper prep. Then there’s the meal and by that time I’m too tired to do dishes, much less put personal thoughts together. They’re not coherent IN my head, so how would they be coherent OUT of my head? So I do my other paid writing and it’s so late at night by that point I have to go to bed or I won’t get up early enough to start work all over again.

As it is, I’m usually in bed around 1 am. This cycle is just not working. Why? Because I’m tired ALL THE TIME. And I cry a lot, and not just at those stinking Extreme Makeover: Home Edition episodes that they edit JUST TO MAKE ME CRY, but at everything. And I feel like THE CRAZY is hiding under my bed and waiting for my foot or arm to hang off the side just a little bit so it can GRAB ME and pull me into its HELLISH DEPTHS. That could might be the reason I keep a flashlight and baseball bat next to my side of the bed. I aim to be PREPARED for THE CRAZY. Ahem. Anyway.

When I do manage to sit down, I open up a window to start writing and… crickets. Lots of chirping. And it’s not the cute little chirping. It’s the “I want to gouge my eardrums out” chirping. In my head. Because we don’t have any crickets in our house. And if we did I’d drive myself crazy finding the little sucker and disposing of it. (I don’t mind the sound of crickets as long as they are OUTSIDE OF MY HOUSE.)

Starburst

Not too long ago, I was chatting with a friend and I was telling her how rough it’s been. What makes it worse is worrying. I am an all-time champeen worrier. I might even have a plaque or trophy somewhere to prove it and NO YOU CANNOT SEE IT. My cross to bear. The problem with worrying is it’s so draining. And crazy-making. I’ll tell you all about OCD my worrying is. Sometime. Not now.

But as I was telling her exactly how utterly ridiculous this worrying is, that which I cannot seem to STOP IT, I realized exactly how insane I sounded. HI, I’M CRAZY, WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE MY FRIEND? She just might have mentioned that maybe a little more drinking is in order. I let her know that I have TRIED to drink enough to DROWN THE CRAZY, but that little bugger can swim BETTER THAN I CAN.

I’m also trying a couple of projects for fun, like art journaling and binding my own small project books. I am actually looking forward to carving out some time for them. Using paint, and paintbrushes. SHARP POINTY TOOLS. (Like awls and paper punches, y’all. Yeesh.) Colored pencils. Bits of old books, and beautifully-patterned paper. Oh, the BEAUTIFUL PAPER. It calls to me, especially from the clearance aisle at Michael’s. Which, by the way I think I am going to have to BAN MYSELF from Michael’s. And the local paper supply shops. But at least it’s something I am getting immense joy from. Or maybe that’s just fumes from the glue stick.

I guess I really need to make an effort to find creative outlets. Because I may not be able to drown THE CRAZY in drink, but I sure can try to glue her down to a piece of paper and SMOTHER HER IN ACRYLIC PAINT. Or, you know, just enjoy being creative in a no-pressure environment. Whichever.

ps) Major credits if you can figure out where the title comes from. And I just realized that Laura does her titles this way all the time and I SWEAR I’m not stealing it from her. I just haven’t named my posts from songs in a long time and wanted to for old time’s sake.