Today I completed two very minor tasks that had been weighing on me heavier than… oh shit man, they should make a cool pop references thesaurus. I can’t think of awesome shit to say, I’m sorry.
Ok so two tasks, long overdue… the sort of thing normal people do before breakfast, the kind of people who eat breakfast, and don’t tick “eat breakfast” off their to do list and feel like it’s an accomplishment (I can never get out of bed in time to have breakfast)
One was pay those bills. Those embarrassingly overdue bills from over a month ago, maybe two months. the next bills will arrive next week, probably. It will be depressing as fuck. But I paid those two fat mothers that have been the bane of my existence for so long. It’s humiliating because I live across the road from the post office, all I have to do is get out of bed, go downstairs in a shift dress and smelling of morning, unwashed body… and take a number, and go back upstairs, have a shower, drink coffee, mess around online, eat fucking breakfast, and every so often twitch the curtains and see what number they are serving, then mosey on down to stand for like a minute before it’s my number. And that requires me to get up 20 minutes before I normally get up. Like, it’s taken me a month to manage that.
But I did it, and I swear the reward system of the human body is AWESOMe. Not only has the guilt been lifted (there’s still more guilt, but that was a big un. Still have to write to my aunt and congratulate her on getting married oh goddammit I have to get that done, she’ll hate me so much, I didn’t go to the wedding and I’m her only neice… shit fuck I’ve left it so late… it was ages ago.) And anyway yeah I paid my bills and it took five minutes.
And I had breakfast.
Last but not least!
I haven’t cleaned my bathroom floor in about a month either. It’s covered in lint and debris and general nasty stuff. Every time I go in there and sit on my wooden seat on my porcelain throne, I look at the floor in front of me. And every time, I catch a glimpse of the same dead wasp near my feet. And it freaks me out and I am afraid to look at it, until I remember it isn’t a wasp, it’s a piece of pocket lint or fluff or something, and I finally work up the courage to look straight at it (I have a terrible fear of DEAD bugs) and then I’m flooded with relief enzymes because it’s just fluff.
And every time I use the toilet and go through the dead wasp -no- pocket fluff- routine, I think “hmmm, I should pick up the fluff and throw it in the bin so I don’t go through this again. And I always shrug and go “meh” (not really, because who does that on their own? A psychopath. No one has ever shrugged alone, probably, apart from the odd serious nut job.) And I never pick up the fluff, and it repeats and repeats and oh shit man, so many wasted stress hormones on this wasp business. So today I finally did it, I didn’t manage to clean the floor but I did pick up the fluff and put it in the bin.
I’d almost call and tell my mother, but I think she might actually be impressed, and that would depress me because it would just prove how worthless and unmotivated I really am, if my mother thinks this was a good day for me too…