Today is a fifty-steps-to-make-coffee day.
I did not rise from my bed before seven. I've been having emotional difficulty commencing my day by rising from my bed. Short version: Depression and Anxiety have synergised into making that my daily problem.
My steak, which I put in the fridge to thaw, had been shoved into a back area where it would remain partially frozen. Thus, I had to dawdle getting the rest of my breakfast and, long story short, It was HALF PAST TEN before I could sit and commence anything related to work on my compy.
And my browsers have been forgetting windows and tabs, lately. No I do not know what is up with that and capturing my grand fixer-uperers is a trial and a half. I want nothing more than to chase the endorphins all day but I also have responsibilities. Said with an ominous echo.
I have a fucking Clayton's Asthma Attack that is bordering on Frog Soup Bad.
And I'm blaming Chapter 13 for this at the moment. Everything went pants after I finished it and made it available to my beta reader. In my life, in my ability to can... it's a whole thing and you'll be hearing about it on my Weird Writer Wednesday tomorrow. If I don't derp and publish it early again.
My left ankle hates me. My right knee hates me. My lower back hates me. My lungs are trying to go on strike. Yet I persist anyway, fuck you.
I have a thing to write for today, a thing to write for the Promptcast's newsletter, 2K words to put in my entry for the Promptcast, but at least I have Weird Writer Wednesday sewn up. Huzzah.
Let's get shit done so I can go back to fucking bed.