On my third cup of coffee, so blurry-eyed tired I am just starting to see clearly. As I could barely see my writing when I woke up with all the grammatical mistakes for someone reminded me I left out a portion in my Great Expectations piece earlier.
I am so tired my face hurts. I know it hurts to look at me too. Making my second pot of coffee wishing the coffee was stronger. Perhaps I am in such a way that no amount of caffeine can bring me back.
Wish I was hungry enough to write about it, but I still have no appetite – not even for sausage. Now, you know there is a problem when this girl doesn’t want to put sausage in her mouth. Because sausage and me are never going to break up.
Papaya, earlier I felt like eating papaya which I believe speaks to my bad, hurting, upset belly because papaya has enzymes that is the most I can give you.
Killing myself writing and I don’t know why. I am killing myself on my days off writing, why?! I mean, I don’t get paid for it, it doesn’t get me anywhere in life other than more stressed and tired, and further behind in chores as I have piles of other day-to-day work piling up that I have no help with. It is overwhelming and burdensome. I can’t stand the amount of time it takes hours and hours, and hours and hours, and hours and hours, man – no joke. Ugh!
Writing.
Trying to get ahead of someone who had it easy for months getting one or two posting a day. Now, I have to – for some reason – hurry up and get it all done in one or two days off? I don’t know why I am doing it.
Why am I killing myself writing?
WE - DO NOT AGREE! 