I haven't written a stitch and it bothers me that I busied myself in obligatory gifts, that were well-meaning no doubt, but as useless and unneeded as appendicitis, and an eyesore no less, and DIY with nuts and screws that took up hours and every second made me want to fling it out the window, for they were supposedly meant to serve some purpose except it was exactly the opposite and now I wish I could dismantle and throw it in a trash can because it's fucking garbage and I hate it.
Makes me want to look up different poisons in a medical book and delicious dishes in a cookbook, and think of ways of joining the two.
This day has turned into sewage that slid down the drainage pipe without me being productive and here I have a hundred things to do and yet this day slithers towards its end and oh there's a dog that needs walking in this torrential rain, food that needs cooking and football that needs watching.
I have issues, I have anger, my annoyance threshold dips down every day, my irritation button grows every place.
