24 August, 2009

that thing with the lungs and the air is broken again

spent the last couple of nights medicating the crap out of the maddened rodent that keeps the brain wheels turning. the last two nights it refused to stop or even slow down, despite my increasingly frantic chanting of "peaceful and calm*" as i lay in bed bombarded by all the things that could go wrong (we'll never sell this house/we priced it too high/we'll never make back the money we put into the house/why in the name of all fuck did we just spend two fucking years renovating a house that we are now trying to sell/will i ever sleep again ?/i think i am dying/i cannot breathe, oh god, i cannot breathe and so on).

since then, several people (including a zara employee with improbably thick gorgeous glossy hair) have promised to send positive thoughts my way and it must be working because i feel marginally better. but. but i do not deal well with stress (what? you noticed? is it THAT obvious?). this must end.

house - i command you to sell! you have one week, motherfucker!

today i shall exercise (it forces the lung and air thing to work better) and then go to work. it seems now that booking three days of work this week might not be a bad thing since it will force me to focus on calcified mouth matter instead of my house woes, which, come to think, might not be that much of a step up, but i am far less likely to give a shit about your periodontal problems than my own real estate issues. 

the day i start hyperventilating because someone refuses to floss is the day i pay someone handsomely to have myself shot.


*i mistyped "clam" and thought it might make a wicked mantra. i mean, have you ever seen a pissed off, stressed out clam? me neither!

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