Eight Days

I was hoping this was going to be a light and funny post. But then, existential dread hit. What the actual ef is that about anyway? I’ll tell you. I was playing poker in virtual reality when it glitched. I was able to hear what everyone was saying as they talked about me. It was weirdly unsettling, like what I imagine people who have the experience of hearing everything the medical staff says while they’re sedated. It gives me the wibbly jibblies.

Anyway, enough about that, and onto more pressing matters. Like how I’m falling behind in my reading goal for the year and it’s only January 6th. Or, maybe I should see it as – since it’s only January 6th I have SO much time to reach my goal. Which is to read 50 books. Or is it 60? I forget. I’ll look it up and get back to you.

The date reminded me I have eight days until I turn 40. In years past my birthday has snuck up on me, but I have the feeling that’s not the case this year. I am on it. Eight days. A week and a day. A decent vacation. One hundred and ninety-two hours. And so on and so on.

Oh, my anger management course is going well. Thanks for asking. It’s 13 hours of instruction, and I’m an hour in. The most interesting part so far was the conversation around road rage. Studies have shown that anxious people are prone to road rage and coupled with the element of risk experienced while driving, otherwise, unangry people, get angry. Even hostile.

Lastly, our house is in the middle, well maybe 10% the way through, of being totally decluttered and organized. There is organized chaos all over the living room, kitchen, and hallways. And however much it is not my favorite part of the process it’s necessary. It’s necessary because eventually everything will have a place, and I’ll get to attain the dream I’ve had for a very long time.

Alrighty, gotta go. Time to read 10% of my book, or at least as much as I can until my eyes get heavy. Nighty night.

Love always,


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