…Also, Don’t Punch Washing Machines

I wish this were a deep, insightful post or even something funny to snicker at for a few minutes before you all return to actual work. Nope. You get this. My insight: punching a washing machine hurts like hell.

Originally I wanted to blog something writerly. A bit of advice that’d get your creative juices flowing or give you a peek into how weird a writer’s life can be. That is, after all, the reason this blog exists. But as I stared at the damn cursor, I drew a giant blank. After twenty minutes piddling around the internet in hopes of finding something to nudge a solid idea forward, I realized nothing I write will come across with the proper tone.

Why? Because I’m pissed as hell.

It happens. This is actually a manic stage I deal with a lot. Except this time around, I’m coming off a lot of stress. No time to myself. No sex in weeks–yes, that’s important to know; shut up. No quiet to work in. No schedule to force my brain into one set pattern. No help wrangling our newly-expanded zoo, or cleaning up after them. Not to mention the mountain of work on my desk I can’t touch because every time I sit to work, chaos pisses from the general direction of what some people believe is a bearded asshole in the sky who hates gays, mixed fabrics, and tattoos.

I fucking hate winter vacation. Going into the last week of it, I wish they’d do away with the winter holidays altogether. Jesus, who? Pfft!

As together as I thought I was when the week started, it slid into a manic episode so fast, my neck hurts. But not as much as my ring finger, which may very well be fractured above the first knuckle. No point going to a doctor to confirm. It’s not a full break. The finger is straight. I’ve taken care of worse–huzzah years of being unable to afford health insurance.

And yes, I broke my finger punching our malfunctioning washing machine–one more thing to add to the list of repairs needed around the house. The really, really old house which should probably be gutted and rebuilt, except I’m a writer.

tumblr_lox02eaI2C1r0wgiuo1_400Not exactly swimming in vaults o’ cash like Scrooge McDuck over here.

I didn’t want to blog a long-winded bitch session. Apologies. I’ll find some way to make it up to you, dear readers, sometime later this week when I’ve dragged myself out of this current bipolar spiral.

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3 thoughts on “…Also, Don’t Punch Washing Machines

      1. Amy

        We all do it – I once kicked a wall and broke a toe. While it didn’t interfere with my typing, it prevented me from working for a couple weeks. I was a waitress at the time.

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