Mindfucks are a bit of a specialty of mine. Please refrain from dying of bafflement. Yes, I mindfuck myself on the fair and regular.
A few days ago, I was realizing how different the routine of writing my dailies is. All-of-a-sudden different, like one week it was Shitty Haikus and a Satchel of Wines and the next it was write all the things! All things are insta-epically fleshed out and important! Never be tired or without an idea because you must honor these last days!!!!!!
I don’t feel bad about the shitty haikus. I don’t even really feel bad about obsessing over the last month(ish). I do want these last days to count. But I realized (like five minutes ago) that just because my writing routine is about to change, doesn’t mean any aspect of the rest of my life has changed. I’m still juggling medical bonanza and teaching bonanza (and now it’s recital season so whatever just fuck me sideways on environmentally unsound lawnmower and call it a day. Or lunch break. Literally whatever) and family hoop de do and three dogs who insist on never learning how to use the toilet. I’m not a new person because I’m about to go through a big change. I’m not even about to be a new person just because I can see this change coming.
I’m still Shitty Haikus and Drunken Ice Cream Recipes and Reasons I Can’t Wear a Thong Ever (it’s just one reason and that reason is because thongs were created in Paul Ryan’s ancestral porn dungeon and I’ll not have that near my poon thanks the end). I’m still Occasional Depth and Fuck It’s 2am Hahaha Think Anyone Noticed?
And I’ve decided that if I stumble in this last month, I’m not going to see it as one of my fail posts (of which there are already more than enough). I will see it as care. Because that’s what it is. That’s what it always was.