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And this has absolutely nothing to do with anything. GIPHY

I have a final exam to take today. I have studied for it. It will be fine. It will be fine.

I have a lot of paperwork to fill out.

I have some catching up to do in another class but fortunately, that instructor seems to really understand the luddite hamster wheel that is my brain routinely squeaks right on off the thing holding it up and zips around the room, crashing into every wall it can. Super awesome.

So here is how today has gone:

12:30 am- waking up with the usual “OH MY GOD I AM DYING” feeling in my chest. Belch loudly enough that Kurt stirs slightly but does not awaken. Ah, shit. Okay. Get up, sit upright, guzzle water. Fire’s out, go back to bed.

Some juncture between 1:30 am-2:30 am: hellish dystopian world nightmare. Fantastic, that anxiety feel is not my gut. I did get to ride a horse in it, so I had that going for me. People were trading food items for things. At one point I got mad and threw this big bowl against a wall and it shattered everywhere but I don’t remember why. Pop a half a xanax, go comatose til around..

4:30 amish: am-ish, not Amish. God, I could go for a whoopie pie right about now.

I am a sensory bundle of pure shit. I hate taking xanax, which is why I don’t do it often. I feel vaguely hung over like I haven’t slept at all and waking up that way is not my normal.

Motherfucker I need coff- what’s that…oh no. Kitty, no, no. Do not barf there. Please do- UGH. Flirt with Kurt, who has been at work a bit by now. We joke about my having slept in and such. The tag on my shirt is driving me nuts and my socks feel weird.

Oh hell, not this shit.

I am still dealing with the weird shit vibe that always happens when I have those nightmares. Couldn’t explain it to you if I tried, and really, I don’t care to.

Ah, jesus tits, there’s an idiot talking about the St. Louis prosecuting attorney race- how’s that for the point A to my nightmare’s point b, right? Fuck it. I’m gonna have a momentary lapse of reason and show reason. Point, backing of said point. Dude didn’t do it, and I think the PBR he was surely drinking when he made the post is probably warmer than his brain.

I’m cold. I’m cold, did I shut off the AC earl- yes, I did, man, my nipples are …GAH THIS SHIRT.


Ah shit. That’s the mayor. Right then- wait, what? Okay, be polite. Be politic. You got this. I did have this. And I got this for my trouble, along with an invitation for a sit down chat:

I again politely reitterate I would prefer an answer to my questions where I asked ’em. I’d be happy to meet, just answer my questions, sir.

It never happened. Was I particularly surprised?

Look, I am so rarely surprised that when I am, even if the surprise just sucks ass, it’s wonderful. I am kinda similar to the God Emperor of Dune like that.

Can you believe they’re remaking Dune?!

The cat is horking again.

Hairballs. The tag on my shirt is driving me insane, I keep mentally picturing that guy trading one of those Hawaiian rolls for a pack of smokes. Kurt is flirting with me via text, oh hi, libido- you are the very last thing I needed to show up today of all days.


I think I want to eat that big ass ice cream for the Trainwreck challenge. Cup of coffee during and I’d be set. That’s nothing. Holy crap, you can do that? But you’re…you’re so…tiny.

I’m a hummingbird, man. Oh wow, I have that project building the feeders to do with the Fish.

Mosquito bites on my ankles from this morning’s run through the grass are itching.

I need to take that exam, now.



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