I'm Very Busy Not Doing Things

i am sitting, now, at my computer, snotting all over the place.

(isn't that simply poetic?)

my sudafed-addled brain is having a very, very difficult time of things lately. i have finally reached the point at work where i have real responsibilities and deadlines and like, actual ShitToDo, and i gotta say, i'm a little out of practice.

and when you have ShitToDo, and drugs in your system, and flo, and a new Comic, and a performance, and a hideous break-out, and an unkempt apartment, and also life, there comes a point when the only thing you can think to accomplish is to blog about the sorry state of affairs that you have found yourself in and among.

and so you will rattle on about those affairs in no particular order because you are SICK of order because that is all you have been trying to create at work and no one is helping you because your official job is, apparently, herding cats. (remember when they tried to tell you that when you interviewed? uh huh. and what did you say? you said you love challenges. so there you go. meow, meow.)

but speaking of cats, my stupid cat, Monster, has taken to peeing at the front door. on the hardwood floor. in the same spot. roughly every other day. he pees, i clean it up. it is ridiculous and i hate cats. (not really, but you know.) he is insane and there is nothing to be done about it*. it is just The Way Things Are here in my otherwise cozy apartment: walk in the door, clean up the pee.

i feel glamorous.

and so to add to the glamour that is cleaning up cat pee and snotting all over the place, i am currently wearing sweatpants that are several years old and several sizes too big for me. and NOT in the flattering way.

and then on top i'm wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt that i stole from el_g years ago. but of course, by "stole" i mean "wore a couple times and spilled so much on it that he didn't want it back," which means that not only are the stains still present, but they have bred, creating a medley of shapes and colors that are splattered all over and that i should really be more embarrassed about.

but oh well.

so yep. sitting here, in anti-cute sweats. and a green mud masque. because as you might recall, in addition to also fighting a cold, i am fighting some freakish break-out that has decided to join me for my performance tomorrow.

along with the snot.

and of course, rather than figure out what i'm going to say to introduce the group at tomorrow's performance, i'm here writing about the things i'm not doing.

like...i'm not listening to my new super-adorable, super-tiny, super-pink mp3 player i bought for the gym. know why? 'cuz it's also super-BROKEASS. for some indeterminate reason, it only plays music in one ear, and sometimes not in either ear. um. but yeah, no. i am not returning it because that would be like admitting defeat and, well, i'm not so much completely sane.

i'm also not reading two of my favorite magazines, because i noticed they haven't been delivered in a while. and that, i thought to myself this morning, is probably because they're being delivered to me at work. at a company i'm not working for any more.

i'm not sure when i last paid any of my bills.

i'm not responding to about seven personal emails i desperately need to.

i am not doing laundry, either. (and i am not going to get into details here about WHY i am not doing laundry because it is enough at this juncture to simply say i have serious laundry issues to the extent that that's probably an entry of its own. and doesn't THAT sound riveting...)

i'm not going to the gym this week. i mean, i have actually been pretty good about going, but i am not going this week because the gym is full of scary, evil germs that are in better shape than i am.

and finally, since i'm pretty sure i'm also not being very interesting, i am not going to write any more. i am going to take a very steamy shower and try and get some rest and hope that tomorrow will not be as...uh..."busy."











*please do not try and give me advice on behavior modification for cats because shutup.