I left my box of work at the office. After all this discussion about being able to work from home, all the effort made and I’m still considering driving in early (hopefully before anyone else gets there to get this dumb box). If this was before, I could almost sorta justify that by saying I’d get myself Starbucks or something, but, things, for the time being have changed and my goal had been to just stay in and plow through everything I could. To just work without the huge distractions of the co-worker needing to know what our email address is. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. But writing group was tonight and even though I got this jolt of inspiration beforehand, the group was almost completely new people and instead of taking a step back and laying low with my marginal submission, I had to be extra extroverted. The group was weird, too. I felt squicky for a couple stories and probably ended up being overly supportive of things I would, in most other contexts, find lame or disturbing. But I don’t want my group to feel restricted at all, so if someone wants to cuss and describe the physical features of women in aggressive tones (albeit in a way that is in keeping with his story and actually made for a great reveal in the end, if you can forgive the pun.), that’s okay. I wrapped everything up quickly and then, got my leftovers from the fridge and forgot the damned box. Drove halfway home before I realized it and hoped if I didn’t glance in the backseat it would magically be there. But, no. So after this very busy, fine day, I end up feeling a bit pissy.
Underfed, too. Tried to pull together a full and decent lunch, but I was hardly hungry at that exact moment. But I’m happy that I’ve kept on course. I know that the desire not to have to take the picture of my board, not to have to take that last little tiny step is a sign that I absolutely have to. I have to pay attention and focus because when I start becoming laissez-faire, along with being frustrated and hungry, I just say what the hell and start roaming backwards.
I mean, I was happy today. Like I went in the bathroom and looked at my made-up face and stood there and preened for a minute. I thought this is a likeable person. This is a person someone could see somewhere and, I don’t know, produce a feeling for. My other issues notwithstanding, I looked positively human. Pretty even. I told myself I looked genuinely pretty. I also rode the bike and felt awake and alive for a while there. A guy maybe flirted with me. He was, at the very least, nice to me and I didn’t judge him for that so that’s a step in the right direction, I have to think.
So I don’t want to be pissy and down. Tomorrow’s Friday, I got Mumford playing, I gotta get myself okay and moving.