So here are some things I've decided:
I'm done wearing eyeshadow. I put it on, and it looks o.k., and then it starts to feel like it's slowly, grain by microscopic grain, working its way into my eyeballs, and I spend the rest of the day with minorly itchy eyes, which I don't want to rub, because, cf: EYESHADOW, which would get even more grains in my eyes. I'm sticking to eyeliner, which, if I'm feeling fancy, I will pencil all the way up to my eyebrow line. I AM PRETTY.
March is going to be Pantry Month. Don't get all excited - I said PAN-TRY, not the unmentionables. I have hoarder-type tendencies, and the husband and I hate dealing with commerce and its attended yokels [seriously, I was at the grocery store yesterday, out running errands, like a normal person who does not have bits of scab still clinging to the incision in above her belly button, and of course it was me and every old person in my city who decided it was prime time to park their goddamn carts all over the place and that one old man/woman/?? who I kept running into - oh, no wait, he/she/?? kept running her cart into me and then one time TOUCHED MY PERSON and then also that old guy who snagged, no lie, like six of those little free food samples and was standing near the bags of Doritos (which I did NOT buy, much as I wanted to) snarfing them like he hadn't eaten in ages, which grossed me out and then made me feel bad, because maybe he hadn't eaten in ages, but seriously, put that shit in your pocket and take it home, old guy, no one wants to see your dentures flapping (YES, I KNOW I AM A BITCH AND I AM GOING TO HELL, I KNOW AND CAN'T HELP MYSELF) and it was all I could do not to scream] . . . what? Oh. Anyway, our house and fridge and freezer and separate stand up freezer is full of food and we are spending March working our way through it because as much as I can't stand dealing with people, I also don't like the idea that I have to toss food that I bought in a fit of good intention and then never used because the apocalypse never came. Also, we are two people and two cats and have enough food to feed the Brady Bunch. It's ridic.
I am a fucking writer, goddammit. I am a writer and I will FINISH what I have started and when I sell this book you all better buy a copy and pretend you like it because while I am a writer, I am also very, very needy and you better buck up and help a girl out so she doesn't have a major breakdown. Again.
I am going to start playing my flute again. I've signed up for flute lessons. I haven't played in years, really, but I used to like it and I used to be quite good at it, and I need to do something that isn't work or exercise or sorting through canned goods for a decent meal [who is coming over for chickpeas and evaporated milk? YUMMY!] and since no one will come over and talk shit about people with me, I'm going to play the flute.
That's what I've got so far. I've also got an award coming up that the super-fantastic Good Yougman Brown tossed my way, which I will post soon, but I wanted to tease you about it, because I AM SPECIAL AND YOU ARE NOT. Wait. That's more being a dick than teasing. Sorry. You're special, too. I swear.
I'm sorry. Here. Let me give you a bag of frozen peas to make it up to you.