PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

too tired to write....i could..but I won't

Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004
I could write another entry about how Iím tired or about looking for a dress and clueless about the fit and size issue and have to make an appointment to get measured, oh hell I could write an entire damn entry about that oneÖor I could mention how Iím not off of work until Sunday and/or I could talk about how my black pants look slightly gray after washing them with a couple white shirts I had previously pre-soaked in bleach like a dumbass and how I didnít notice it until just a moment ago and now Iím wondering if I wash them with black clothing dye if I can rescue them again. I could talk about how tired I was yesterday that I was the walking zombie and how now I realize in comparison that today is a non-tired day actually. I could talk about how Iíve been reading the same 3 books for almost a month now because I canít make up my mind which to concentrate on and I donít have the reading time I once did. I could talk about my TWO jobs and how crazy they are sometimes and how both of my bosses (actually I have a plethora of actual bosses but only two supervisors) are awesome and how Iíll never be Ďdoocedí out of my job for talking smack about my bosses because they are both absolutely smackless, but Iím working so much that I donít want to then write nor talk about work now. I could talk about how my son called me this morning while waiting for the bus to arrive just to tell me he loves me and misses me and how my heart sunk into the very very bottom of my gut and I wanted to puke because all I wanted to do was ruffle up his little boy hair and I couldnít, oh but if I write about that I might start crying, in factÖfuck..too late. I could just move on and tell you how these half-gray looking pants that cost me $45 are making me ill at how I ruined them over a $5 white t-shirt from the gap that says ďsingleĒ on the front of it and how I wanted to rescue the stupid shirt from staindom because I can only wear it another year. I could mention how I once dyed my ex-husbands black work pants with RIT dye and he came home from work a few days later with a black ass from where he sweated against his pants. I could but who the hell wants to hear about him or his shit? I could tell you that my foreign friends are the most upset about Bush being re-elected but I for one am entirely sick of hearing, reading blah ditty blah blah politics, canít write about that! I could write about doctors appointments, benefits, and paycheck stubs and the mound of paperwork and receipts that I have to go thru at my apartment, but who hasnít had that problem or seen that problem before. I could talk about my sexlife, but that will have to wait until I have time to engage and then relate said engagement.

So you see, the reason I donít write witty shit anymore is itís Ö.yah Iím just too tired. :-(

-PoeticaL

1:40 p.m. ::
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