I can't tell.
The time all runs together.
I've read three books. I cleaned up after the party. I sliced the cake into large slabs and put them in the freezer so it would be harder for me to nibble. And I'm getting 8 hours of sleep per night.
I can't write. I can't edit. I can't beta. I can't socialize.
I can't tell my 324 Facebook friends that I abhor old people who cut in line in front of people with small children. Seriously, if I can't tell you that, if we can't commiserate together about people who drive slowly in the left-hand lane, WHAT'S THE POINT?
Anyway, my new power cord should be here in the next two days, and then I'll get to be myself again. Until then, it's back to being responsible and finding escape in books that I didn't write.
I DON'T EVEN RECOGNIZE MYSELF.
But part of the problem could be that my left toenails are all painted gunmetal gray, and my right toenails are all teal.
It's very confusing.
Honestly, I think I do better when sleep deprived and manic.
written in my parents' spare bedroom to the wheezing whine of a chihuahua