12.21.06

Ye gods and little fishes. I'm a whiney mass of self-centeredness. Maybe I should change the name of this blog to "Whiney Drivel That Serves Only My Ego." That'd be catchy, wouldn't it?

Let's run down my complaints, shall we?

1. PMS like no one's business; the whole boobs aching, back hurting, bitchy-bitchiness, experience. I've got zits. I want chocolate. My body is retaining water like a parched sponge thrown into the Nile.
2. It's the holiday season--and I work across the street from one of the biggest malls in the Stumptown area.
3. Tomorrow is my birthday--42, thankyouverymuch--and, suddenly, it's starting to creep me out that I'm not doing much of anything with my life.
4. I, apparently, cannot write anything commercially to save my life. Not articles, not books, not anything. (Though I'm telling myself that this self-doubt and confusion is due to PMS-ing like a women's dorm.)(Because, right now, it's all about me.)

Crap. Working today at another shop for an hour and a half--to give them a break. Then it's over to the holiday lobby-of-Christmas-carol hell. At least I'm not working tomorrow.

Thanks for letting me bitch. And, if you made it this far, extra-double-plus thank you. Because right now (and I reserve the right to change my mind) I think my writing sucks, sucks, suckity, suck-sucks.

Happy solstice!

Back one. ||||| Forward one.