Still edgy.

[ysobelle]

Jittery. When I think too much, it's like I've swallowed a pot of coffee. Pot and all. I bought a belated Christmas present. I have more cleaning to do. Distract me.

I have to decide where I'm going to take my Mucha posters to get framed. I won one more on eBay, and I'm still waiting for it. That'll be five then, to get framed. Six if I get the other new one properly done. I have ideas on how to move the furniture in my sewing room and living room around, and I need to get that done soon. I have my vacuum back as of last night, so I have to order a new brush. I have my sister's basement to paint Saturday, the pipe bands on Sunday, and an in-service day with my Aunt Grace on Monday.

So why do I feel as if time is going so slowly? Dammit. I always hate the idea of longing for time to pass quickly, as I know I can't go back later and reclaim it. And there's always the fear, while counting hours, that you're counting down to disaster. Or at least more Gothy angst. That, in turn, only exacerbates the inevitable regrets later on: "Oh, and how excited I was beforehand! How embarassing."

I'm hungry. I'm annoyed. I'm despairingly bored at work, yet I have a mountain of pathetically boring work to do. I could be home sleeping, dammit. I could be home cleaning. I could be home!

Counting.

Comments

[psychemarlies.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

btw, your PM box on zee Wench site was full.

[ysobelle.livejournal.com]

Thanks. To you, too!

And it's all clean and empty now!