Wrong side of the bed.

Truth be told I don’t feel much like writing.

Well. Ok. I feel like writing. I feel like kicking and screaming and singing and crying and acting and moving and writing a masterpiece. But I’m all bottled up. Plus I’m super grumpy. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed I guess. And I’m not working.

Here are the things that need to happen before Danielle might stop by this morning\afternoon:

Change the litter box- it reeks to high heaven.

Do the christing goddamn dishes—I really hate doing dishes. Hate it.

Tidy up- not a huge deal, shouldn’t take too long.

Empty various trash bins. – W.E.

Perk the fuck up so I’m not a drag to my lovely friend! –easier said than done.

I'm just such a grump and all I want to do is crawl back into that bed and sleep the day away. But Id also don't want that, because that will make me feel worse than I already do about being useless.

So maybe I'll make myself a tea, take a few moments, collect my thought, and then tackle that litter box?

UGH.

FML.