I know, right? I go from silence to posting almost non stop in no time.
I just really don't want to clean. It's gotten to the point where I'm literally considering just packing dirty clothes so that I can do my laundry at my mom's house rather than go to the laundromat before Wednesday morning. I bagged up a bunch of trash but that just means I now have two full garbage bags sitting around that need to be taken to the dumpster. I've eaten precisely one bagel with cream cheese and am seriously considering ordering in for dinner just because I cannot be bothered.
I have a feeling that my complexion is taking on the same hue as my couch seeing as I sleep there these days (yes, again) and spend most of my time away from work there.
And this all bothers me so little that it is almost meta. I know I should be doing more. I know I should be making sure that I live in a clean home with clean sheets and clothes. I know I should treat myself well and that living in a filthy home isn't good for me.
But god damn it, I have cable and internet and my job is killing me and J turned into a psycho and so what does it really matter? So what if I slowly turn into the garbage pile from Fraggle Rock (right? I have no idea why that came to me but it did). Maybe if I was dating I'd care a little more. If I were the sort to entertain I would definitely scrub the hair dye from ALL OVER the bathroom and make sure my place smelled pretty. But I live alone with a guinea pig and so I'm becoming more and more like his little ass and it really doesn't bother me.
The fact that it doesn't bother me does though. I need to find my pep or vim or vigor or whatever it is because I really don't want to die from falling over one of my obstacle courses and have an article written up in the paper about how messy my home was. And I don't want my family to have to root through a bunch of crap to sort out whether there is anything worth saving.
I'm basically saying that I need to figure shit out and find the energy to clean my home in case I die. That is seriously fucked up.
I just really don't want to clean. It's gotten to the point where I'm literally considering just packing dirty clothes so that I can do my laundry at my mom's house rather than go to the laundromat before Wednesday morning. I bagged up a bunch of trash but that just means I now have two full garbage bags sitting around that need to be taken to the dumpster. I've eaten precisely one bagel with cream cheese and am seriously considering ordering in for dinner just because I cannot be bothered.
I have a feeling that my complexion is taking on the same hue as my couch seeing as I sleep there these days (yes, again) and spend most of my time away from work there.
And this all bothers me so little that it is almost meta. I know I should be doing more. I know I should be making sure that I live in a clean home with clean sheets and clothes. I know I should treat myself well and that living in a filthy home isn't good for me.
But god damn it, I have cable and internet and my job is killing me and J turned into a psycho and so what does it really matter? So what if I slowly turn into the garbage pile from Fraggle Rock (right? I have no idea why that came to me but it did). Maybe if I was dating I'd care a little more. If I were the sort to entertain I would definitely scrub the hair dye from ALL OVER the bathroom and make sure my place smelled pretty. But I live alone with a guinea pig and so I'm becoming more and more like his little ass and it really doesn't bother me.
The fact that it doesn't bother me does though. I need to find my pep or vim or vigor or whatever it is because I really don't want to die from falling over one of my obstacle courses and have an article written up in the paper about how messy my home was. And I don't want my family to have to root through a bunch of crap to sort out whether there is anything worth saving.
I'm basically saying that I need to figure shit out and find the energy to clean my home in case I die. That is seriously fucked up.
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