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Fucking Anxiety

A 10-post collection

::static noise::

Beloved is home and sleeping it off. I wish I could be that lucky or that able to follow suit.

The best option I have is caffeine. Which sort of works okay, I guess. But ceases working long about 5PM. But I should be done with the important stuff by then and honestly - who cares that my sleep cycle is broken and needs new tyres?

Nobody.

Sleep aids have to be herbal, dear readers. My biology is such that if I actually took a real sleep drug, I would die in the night from not breathing in. Fun shit.

True story. Last time I was in hospital, the nurses kept waking me up every half hour to ten minutes to ask if I wanted a sleeping pill. After THREE FUCKING DAYS of this, I got tired of their shit.

Them: [long about 2AM, waking me up for the billionth time that night] Are you sure you don't want a sleeping pill.
Me: [tired, and fucking tired of this shit] Tell you what. I'll take the damn pill, as long as you promise to check on me every ten minutes to make sure I'm still breathing. We cool?
Them: [gets this fucking Look on their face that was an open book with large print and its contents were "OH SHIT".] Oh. Okay. We won't bother you again.

And they didn't. There may or may not have a note in my permanent record, now, that's like Do not give this bizarre freakazoid any sedatives, they might fucking DIE. But I sure hope so.

Because explaining my hereditary and sincerely weird body chemistry to ANOTHER set of doctors used to be a regular pain in my butt. Someday, they may test my genes. It's gonna be interesting.

But I digress. I'm here to write stories and fight somnalism.

Chedule change, wheeee

Today is a cleaning day. Because something went agley, I have no doubt.

I managed to cook up a very nice soup that got firkin vaccuumed up by the little darlings. And now I must ponder what to do for dinner tonight. That's cheap. And easy.

Because my sleep issues continueth.

I woke up at somewhere near midnight despite having some soothing tea and white noise on. Fitful sleep from there until long about five in the AM.

I am going to

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Small Progress

It's the first of March, and that means that I have seven more days to live through whilst simultaneously fearing acceptance and rejection. Acceptance means I get money, but I also have the possibility of going on book tours and talking at conventions and meeting fans.

And I have social anxiety.

If I am rejected... well, I have to go through all this AGAIN, and with a different Agent-to-be. Or, as I've been starting to shorten it, A2B. Which means another three

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Average, ordinary, everyday... disorder

So here's how things are going for me...

  • Shitty time getting to sleep, because:
  • Anxiety over the book being accepted
  • Anxiety over the animation/animatic I'm planning
  • Anxiety over whether or not the finished thing will get me hated and exiled over the fandom because someone thinks I want to make money about the thing
  • I have a tablet glove on the way and NOT being tracked by the Australian postal system
  • I have a neat fan-comic on the way that has
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I fail at human

My brain, as Thomas Dolby once sang, is like a sieve. I don't intend to forget things? But... it happens.

And when one of those things is as simple as checking my email as part of the process that makes sure my mother is still okay... I really fail at human.

Aliens, come take me away, because I am very obviously not of this world.

I'm at the stage where I have to scribe reminders on the back of my hand or

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Anxiety sucks

I've been having a little executive dysfunction, lately. Dawdling about things because I'm secretly scared of everything that could possibly go wrong. And everything that could impossibly go wrong, too. Because I like scaring myself, apparently.

As I frequently say when I give myself the horrors, my brain hates me.

I still don't know why I'm scared to send in the tax form to Smashwords. It's just one of the many things about me that make no sense whatsoever.

And I'm

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Lo Batt Light

I have just enough energy. Which is a sad place to be, when you think of it.

I have just enough to do everything that needs must be done. But not quite enough to do the things I want to do or the things that are good for me. This is the third day that I've skipped my morning walk because I've lacked the time and the energy combined to do the thing.

Mayhem is still sick. I have just enough energy

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Work, work, work...

I swept four rooms out of twelve. And there is enough debris from that to fill a dumpster. Unsorted, of course. In the midst of that mountain of scrattle, there is laundry, dishwashing, and the occasional useful thing. The rest of it is going out of the house because it was left on the floor. The family obviously doesn't care what happens to it.

My back hurts. Mayhem is sick at home, today. Some lurgi has him fast in its grip. He

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Second cuppa coffee

I’m surprised I made it this long without needing one.

I don’t usually have a second cup. Because chest pains and, in the case of today, nausea.

Plus a side of gut-quibbles.

BUT I gotta do what I can to seem marginally competent at the teacher interviews, this afternoon. IDK why I bother. They sent out the first semester report card ¾ of the way through the year.

Like WTH.

Then they had the nerve to ask me to fill

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Fuuuuuuuu...

My brain wouldn’t let me sleep, last night.

It’s 2:30 AM and I give the fuck up. I got so many irons in the fire today…

Getting my brats lined up and off to school. The instant story. The master file. The continuing work on a 50-page Amazon exclusive. Financial shit from an ongoing rats’ nest of red tape that surrounds trying to pay less money to live…

And a P&T thingy

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