pulling teeth

*** You should stop reading this now and go somewhere else because this will be the most pathetic self indulgent load of crap on the Internet.

Good thing I got my 500 daily words done yesterday morning because if I had to do them last night, I would have been fucked. I'm not in a much better frame of mind this morning.

I want to quit writing. I have no idea why I want to write. It's fucking painful. Oh, should I have warned you that there'd be lots of cursing. This shit just hurts too much. It is physically painful to think about writing. I have nothing to say. I'm irrelevant and boring and I can't figure out why I should bother.

Last night, I almost deleted my Facebook account. It's a good thing I have fairly strong impulse control. I'd be causing havoc all over the place if I didn't. The writing gurus are right, though. Committing to writing everyday and posting this bullshit - without qualification or excuses - helps to force me to do it even when I hate it - writing - and myself.

The disdain I have for my writing can't be expressed. I never want to put pen to paper again (yes, I still write like the ancients did) or put my fingers on another keyboard. But the white screen calls to me and I respond like an addict. I hate it. I hunger for it. The thought of it makes me ill and more depressed and hopeless. I have to have it. I have to have more. I obsess over it. It invades all of my thoughts and moments.

I'm writing a one thousand word story for a writing contest and it's stupid and fractured. It makes no sense. I have until the twenty-ninth to finish it and submit to the judges. I suppose I'll work on it today. Maybe I'll read it at my writing group tomorrow. It's so dumb though. My adjectives are trite and mundane. Dumb. Seriously. I could throw up right now.

One soul is living and dying in five different dimensions/lives, switching genders and time periods. In one thousand words. What was I thinking? Man, I'm desperate. I have nothing to say and so I'm saying dumb things.

If you came here to read this crap, I'm sorry. I should put another warning in the beginning that I would be wallowing in self-pity and boring you with my whining. It's getting harder and harder each day to bother with anything. Routine is the only thing getting me out of bed now. I think it's the thing that's killing me, too.

Doodling helps you reduce stress. I need a big doodle pad. People are coloring now. I remember when I got laughed at thirty years ago for coloring. Now, I'm really babbling. I've completely lost focus.

I went back up to write a disclaimer so I could say, "I warned you."

If you've read this far down, though, I seriously apologize.

even my coffee cup is boring or you can't make a silk purse of a sow's ear

~ click image to make biggerer ~

The prompt for today is to write about my day and make it interesting. Oh, yeah, that’s gonna happen. Here’s my day:

I wake up.

I drink coffee.

I get dressed.

I go to work.

I come home.

I go to bed.

Exciting. Yes? No!

How do you make a boring life not boring? Talk about an uphill climb. We weren’t talking about hills or climbing, but let’s move on.

My bladder is so painfully full. I don’t want to wake up but I can’t make the pressure go away and I can’t ignore it. I crack open one eye to peek at the clock. Even though I use my smart phone as an alarm, I keep an old fashioned alarm clock on my bedside table. It has large LED numbers so I can see it in the dark without my glasses. I need the reassurance of being grounded in linear time when I wake up in with a panic attack. Seeing the time helps me calm down and remember I’m not dying.

I stumble out of bed, grumbling at the aches in my joints. I make it to the toilet just before I lose control. The relief is like an orgasm.

It’s four in the morning and I’m wide awake.

I brew my first cup of coffee, black and strong. Jet fuel for a mind and body that needs a jolt first thing in the morning to even begin to function. I’m working mostly on autopilot right now. Habit and routine working in my favor. I fill my ever present water bottle with ice. Hot coffee and ice water. They are all I need for the first two hours of my day. I gulp down twenty ounces of cold water with my high blood pressure pill and my cholesterol medicine.

At this point, I start to worry about what I will write for my first 500 words of the day. I have nothing to say. I’m a boring idiot who should just keep my mouth shut. Do the world a favor and go hide in a corner somewhere. Shut the fuck up. I’m going to do this regardless of how pathetic and ridiculous you think this is. I have to or I am going to die.

There’s about an hour of this lovely self talk interspersed with moments of zoning out to relieve some of the pressure and pain of my inadequacies. It’s hard working reminding myself I might have some value. It takes lots of energy fighting depressive thoughts. I’m exhausted and I haven’t even done anything yet.

There’s distracting behavior involved. I’ve found that numbers and patterns are my friends.

Friend or Follow - unfollow anyone who stopped following me

Libra Horoscope - scoff at the ridiculousness

Bank Account - no one has stolen from me during the night

Twitter - yay, another follower

Facebook - the meme’s are taking over

Emails - junk, junk, read later, junk, junk, junk

Pack the lunch boxes and get another cup of coffee - this requires that I move. I bitch and moan in my head about how bad I have it. I should have been born rich so I can have a servant hand feed me strawberries.

It’s now six am.