WYFP is our community's Saturday evening gathering to talk about our problems, empathize with one another, and share advice, pootie pictures, favorite adult beverages, and anything else that we think might help. Everyone and all sorts of troubles are welcome. May we find peace and healing here. Won't you please share the joy of WYFP by recommending?
So I've been working on a novel and I'm not sure what to do with it now. I kind of poke at it once in a while and it sputters, full of indulgent scenery porn and nonsense. As is, I've known I need to write a WYFP diary for three weeks now and can't settle on a topic. I feel scattered and dumb, and the heat out here is killing me. Worst. July. Ever. Seriously? Fuck Ohio summers. The winter here I can manage. I can always put more clothes on. I even have a long down coat in a perfect shade of football cultist scarlet that makes me functionally immune to the cold. But no, we had a super mild winter and now July feels like the surface of Venus.
Work makes me want to punch someone. I keep having crazy dreams. School starts next month. I cannot get a handle on learning how to drive. I regret not learning when I was sixteen and lacked any appreciation for the physics of the situation. I am deeply resentful of the number on the scale and yes there is a plan and yes I am working on it, but that doesn't make me magically not fat. My body is a temple, blah blah blah. Sure, if your temple is a solitary, somehow standing, burned out barn on the way to the Oregon coast. Goddamnit, I miss real water. The beach. The ocean. Tide pools and those particular bits of ecotone. I still can't sleep at night, and what's worse, I think I actually miss working graveyard. Maybe as exhausting and violent and stupid as it all was, that was where I belonged. I never seem to be able to shut off my brain, at least not without drinking far more than a person should, and then when I actually want to focus on something, it's all half finished thoughts and running up the stairs too fast. Like why do I have to think about politics and the reassignment of tasks from humans to machines and Latin American sociopolitical stuff and urban decay (I found this fantastic book on Walled City) and all things abandoned and what I want to do with my MMORPG character next and maybe finding a hobby besides that and apparently we're not sleeping at all tonight. My nurse practitioner wants me try try even more pills. I don't want Ambien walrus to come get me.
The landlord wants to fix a cosmetic defect that's been around for almost a decade. There was also some sort of walk-through with lots of note taking. I am pretty sure he's going to sell the house out from underneath us because the lease is up soon. I hate moving. I moved so much when I was a kid and no, it's not a fun adventure and hey, a new place and isn't that great? Sometimes it can be, but most of the time moving is a big pain in the ass, and I might be stressed over nothing, but I've lived in rentals my entire life. I am sure landlords can be wonderful people, I just haven't met any of them. I spent three weeks this month thinking I was pregnant. I am not, but now I am cycling and it's like the elevator in The Shining.
There are worse problems to have, in the grand scheme of things. Oh noez I can't write my novel!!1eleventy. Mostly it is fun to tag Ohio, Pootie, and vagina in the same diary. What's YOUR @$#!ing problem? :)