That’s right. I don’t wanna.
I don’t want to clean my kitchen.
I don’t want to write the next series of words for my story.
I don’t want to do anything but sit, get inebriated and tell life what it can go do with itself.
I don’t feel particularly depressed. But I do feel squished, too many things, too many deadlines, a lot of random roadblocks and side trips today, and not enough time to get it all done in. Instead of inspiring me, it has me grumpy and avoidant.
I have written a couple hundred words, and I will write a couple of hundred more before calling it quits for the night. But oh how I want to call it quits right this very second.
Some days I really hate being an adult.