well. i’m supposed to be writing, for work. and i’m not. shocking, i know.
this is what i’ve done this morning instead of writing.
laundry. dishwasher. ordered seeds for the yard, calendula, valerian, zinnia, and lovage.
I’m going to figure out what to do with tons of calendula this year. You bet your ass I am.
texted with an old friend who i asked to yell at me and he did.
texted with another old friend who got saucy. it was funny but distracting and i was taken aback.
ate some crackers. made myself an instant coffee (sign of the apocalypse, yes.)
made a schedule for errands this afternoon which include finally watching one of the classes I signed up for, assuming I get another thousand words written.
I found a birds nest in the rhododendron. No eggs yet but I figured out how I can look without touching.
I have no self-bribery system set up. The floodgates are down and I’m not withholding anything and if I want candy, I go buy it, furthering the ‘not working’. This is the complete dissolution of productivity, folks. utter dissolution.
My inner core says the work will still get done. Am I doing drugs without my knowledge?
These are the things guys.
And I’m still not shot because my inspection sticker is out of date. Its’ literally not even conceivable. Right? What about you?
