PMS is Worse Than a Bad Date.
It is. I promise. Although there are many similarities. Like wanting it to be over. The thing is. PMS lasts longer than a bad date. Although at least there isn't that worry about how to get home. Which on a date, there is. If the guy is actually enough of a gentleman to pick you up. (Which I've been kind of insisting on lately). I did leave a date sitting at a restaurant once. I think I mentioned it here. If not, then I am now. He was rude. And I didn't feel like dealing with rude. So with dinner on the table and food in his mouth, I got up, walked out and hailed a taxi. I didn't regret it for a minute. Even if I don't date that much. In his mind, I'm sure I was the asshole.
Okay, Skunk just walked out into the living room right up to where Will was sleeping and spooned him. He shifted to accomodate her. Just seeing it makes me want to cry. Clearly, hormonal. And clearly, pathetic. I miss spooning.
Yesterday, I emailed an author congratulating him after hearing he sold his collection of short stories. I found his site. Liked his style. Read a few of his nonfiction pieces. Liked those. Related to those. Bought the collection. And congratulated him. The cool thing is, today he wrote me back. Check out his site:
http://www.matthewklam.com/
I'm not used to being home. And now that I'm feeling better, I'm getting anxious. I sat here all day trying to write. I researched things. Made notes. Sent emails. And tried not to panic. I printed out my novel/screenplay. But I didn't read it yet. I'm petrified I'll hate it. And then where will I be? I wanted to watch a movie, but Netflix sent the wrong one. I canceled my eye appointment since I don't have the cash. And walked to the grocery store. But it's too windy to hike since I just got over a sinus infection. I should have gone to yoga. But I was too cranky. And it is $16 a class. I should apply to jobs, but for some reason, I just can't make myself apply for another job I don't care about and don't want to do. I need my roots done but don't feel like making an appointment. I looked up people I used to know on IMDB. And even googled a few. I'm not sure why. I guess I'll just blame it on PMS. And go with it.
Okay, Skunk just walked out into the living room right up to where Will was sleeping and spooned him. He shifted to accomodate her. Just seeing it makes me want to cry. Clearly, hormonal. And clearly, pathetic. I miss spooning.
Yesterday, I emailed an author congratulating him after hearing he sold his collection of short stories. I found his site. Liked his style. Read a few of his nonfiction pieces. Liked those. Related to those. Bought the collection. And congratulated him. The cool thing is, today he wrote me back. Check out his site:
http://www.matthewklam.com/
I'm not used to being home. And now that I'm feeling better, I'm getting anxious. I sat here all day trying to write. I researched things. Made notes. Sent emails. And tried not to panic. I printed out my novel/screenplay. But I didn't read it yet. I'm petrified I'll hate it. And then where will I be? I wanted to watch a movie, but Netflix sent the wrong one. I canceled my eye appointment since I don't have the cash. And walked to the grocery store. But it's too windy to hike since I just got over a sinus infection. I should have gone to yoga. But I was too cranky. And it is $16 a class. I should apply to jobs, but for some reason, I just can't make myself apply for another job I don't care about and don't want to do. I need my roots done but don't feel like making an appointment. I looked up people I used to know on IMDB. And even googled a few. I'm not sure why. I guess I'll just blame it on PMS. And go with it.
posted by jodypwrites | 4:33 PM
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