tedious, that's the worst part really
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it’s just so fucking dark.
i’m feeling very despondent. work is both busy and boring. i have been in a
fugue state where i’ve just frantically been writing, writing, writing,
tens of thousands of words, but i don’t feel like i’ve hit the “point” yet.
if i were writing for a commercial market and had a merciless editor i have
a suspicion that i would be writing ten thousand words for every thousand i
kept. i just feel like… i haven’t… hit the point of anything in a long
time. i don’t think that’s true but it’s how i feel.
and i just hit a wall today, i was trying to write and i just– can’t. it’s
a scene i badly want to write and have been looking forward to and it won’t
come, i wrote 15k in a different work to avoid it and today i finally
buckled down and started to work on it and… it’s awkward phrasing and it’s
not going anywhere and like my only beta comment so far is to that effect
and like. yeah. you right, but like what the fuck do i do about that. and
i realized it’ll be super difficult for me to write because it’s going to
be a lovely fluffy scene and then i need the people in it to have a vicious
fight and breakup and it’s not going to get resolved for a bit and– my
readers are going to fucking hate that, i’m going to have to spoiler it so
people don’t feel betrayed. and like yes that’s how you do hurt/comfort,
you have to hurt them that’s how it works, but. It’s work.
everything is dark and dreary and grim, and i don’t want to do the work, i
just want to read the fucking story. And yet! I have like…. two? three?
friends updating long stories right now that are just what I want to read,
and I can’t read them for some reason, so I’m behind on that. I don’t want
to read. I want to write. But I want to have written, really, and that’s
not the same thing as either reading or writing.
So I’m just feeling whiny, but I’m also feeling burnt-out and terrified.
Today as I was working at the shipping desk, loudly taping packages so it’s
not like I was hiding, a customer came up to use the bathroom, and then
answered her phone while in the bathroom. I stopped to listen, incredulous,
as she put the caller on speakerphone and then flushed the toilet, and i
was like who does this, it must be someone she’s close with, and then she
came out of the bathroom loudly confirming her address over and over, so
like– no definitely this was a stranger she was talking to, wow. And then
the stranger on the phone was like “SO the test came back positive, I’m
confirming your COVID diagnosis,” and the customer is like “Wow no way!”
and the stranger on the phone is like “I’m afraid yes! I’d recommend you
stay at home.” and the customer says
she says
“Oh I am at home, don’t worry!”
bitch what the glittering F̴̨̝̼̦̹̱͈̽̀̒̔̓̔̾
Ư̷̢̨̢̨̛̰̟̭̮̙͕͖̼̞͓̌̋͆͑̿͂̒́̈́̒̂̈̕ C̴̺͉̣͓͇̳͌̃̆ K̴̢̝̹̫̫̳͙̋̎̏̐̈́̏̌͆̾͐͋͠
here’s the good part, she then goes down the stairs, and I’m like good! go
the fuck home! and I finish taping up my packages and carry the bin of
them downstairs for the mail pickup, and
she is standing there at the counter still on her phone. She is finishing
up her phone calls. I’m like what the fuck, and go behind the counter,
and in a moment she finishes her call and leaves.
Yeah!!! she was just standing there to make her phone call!!! In a room
full of people! Freshly COVID-diagnosed!!! JUST HANG OUT A WHILE, BITCH!
Love it
We are going to be in this pandemic forever and I just
i would like a fucking break, i would like to go somewhere else, i would
like to be someone else, i would like to stop fucking worrying about shit
constantly, i–
argh.
anyway. also i need to buy dude a belt buckle, for Christmas, and it can’t
have flags, eagles, Trump, guns, or dumb sex jokes on it, and that rules
out like 90% of what I can find and the other 10% is ugly too, I guess
there are a few that were pretty but they’re all custom or from some other
country that won’t get here in time and i wish he’d told me about this like
a month ago but here we are.
Oh yeah and Etsy never wrote back to me so I have to find a belt buckle not
on Etsy. The logistics of managing to get an Etsy account while being
locked out of my sole email address is absolutely the fuck beyond me.
the only ray of joy in my life is imagining Ciri with a gun. That is still
bringing me occasional glimmers of serotonin. That, and looking at the
glitter on the back of my phone case, which I cannot explain but fuck
there’s something about that.
You know, I own one of those Make You Less Depressed lights somewhere, I
would consider trying that out only I’m literally not capable of doing
something like that consistently enough to have it help.
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