I got home from work an hour ago and tried to go to bed, but I can’t sleep.
(Work sucked, by the way. I tutored a student this morning, so I got paid in cash for that, but I made a grand total $20 at the Studio. For the second day in a row, nothing was happening. I don’t get it. Why? Where are the men? Out on Long Island, not having sex with their wives? Cleaning their grills in anticipation of Independence Day? What? Where?)
So here I sit, blinking owlishly at the computer monitor.
A girl at work was drinking marshmellow-flavored vodka. I could smell it from across the room. It smelled delicious. My mouth watered. UGH! Disgusting. It’s been almost a year since I dried out–when will I stop being aware of it…?
I have been reduced to scheming, most of the day and once more now. Restless late-night scheming. My anxious brain picking up the questions: How are you going to resolve this? How can you deal with the potentially worst-case scenario? I pick them up and worry them. Worry them worry them worry them.
I am seriously considering doing something…kinda bad. (No, not shooting my landlord–ha! ha!)
The opportunity–the solution to my insecurity–is there. All I have to do is do it.
But once it’s done, it can’t be undone. What fresh hell is this, right?