it’s a mob scene in my mind.
nothing seems to get done on the first try. not my sink. not my car. not my condo hunt.
so much of anxiety lies in the waiting for things to happen.
the plumber fixed one leak (thought it was the leak) but the wet footprints smacked on my floor from his shoes from the snowy outdoors was more foreshadowing and less of a chore to clean up.
around and around and around.
advice given. advice taken. being an adult sucks, except for the part where i can eat ice cream for dinner.
so much good news from internet friends.
so much bad news from forecaster friends.
how long can one sustain such a roller coaster of emotions and still survive?
drinking tea from my “write like a motherf*cker” mug is too delicate. i’m too delicate. i need to write no matter what. why can’t i? why don’t i want to?
re-reading the HARRY POTTER series has been a blessing in disguise because the beginning of this year has been fraught with feelings and diving into those books wraps me up like a hug from a familiar friend. i can read them when i’m anxiously tapping my foot while the plumber does his plumbing…
putting those plastic coverings over your windows is 1,000,000x harder than the four step sequence on the box. here’s hoping extra slivers tapped on because i cut it too short still block out the drafts from icicle laden air.