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28 March 2013
8:46 am

I'm on my way to work -- actually I'm sitting on my front step waiting for the bus -- and I need thoughts on paper but I've left my journal inside and don't care to write in a regular notebook.

Lately I open Spotify and it's like I don't know what music I listen to. I miss the library on my desktop, but that thing might be dead to me, and I have nowhere to put it.

I have the urge to gut the house -- spring, duh -- but I can never find the right music or motivation. I feel fatigued most of the time. I know I need to go back to the clinic, but that whole mess. But I need to do something in this house. It's been a disaster for months -- laundry, every room cluttered and suffocating -- not suffocating, I can't think of the word. My words are broken lately. Smushing. Something on top of the other. Like putting out a candle. But less elemental. God damn it.

I never know how I'm going to react to caffeine. I drink one cup of coffee and get the jitters, but if I don't drink coffee, there's a litany of errors. Limiting and restricting my pop consumption has been easier. There I said it--pop. Fuck you. I am a chameleon.

At least when I am fatigued I'm not a raging bitch, I said last night. At least when I'm this I'm not that, I say all the time. I am wheel of sara, spin me, see who I am today.

I have the urge to gut the house and return it to at least some remote level of unemployed status. I shouldn't need to be unemployed to keep the house clean, it shouldn't need to feel that way, it hasn't always been that way, has it? No. But I feel like there is no time to do the hard work of getting it back in order. On my weekends I run from the house and when I am there I lay down. Find mysel feeling the only way to get a head start is to stay up all night -- which my decrepit old shell will not accept -- or to take time off work. Just a couple extra days or so.

But since I am the only person doing my job, that probably wouldn't be possible until late April and anyway I need the money, what with this whole payin for a wedding thing.

So right now I feel stuck like a CD skipping, not even something romantic like a record player or time loop, but something terrible, dissonant, and abrupt like an alarm, where every step forward I am deposited where I started before my foot hits the floor, how far can I fall forward or lean into it

Anyway at least the grass is showing, who cares if every day I am reminding myself how to breathe