If I Appear to Be Hungover With a Side of Slightly Murder-y, Chances Are My Reproductive Organs Are Self-Cannibalizing
#SorryNotSorry #AskMeAboutMyUterus #StoryOfMyUterus
There’s cleaning to be done and writing to be done and singing to be done (I’m in a chorus and we have a performance this afternoon) and my brain and my body are all …
Don’t move. Don’t think. Don’t worry. Don’t dress. Fine, dress. But don’t exercise. Don’t tire yourself out with all those little routines that keep things moving along all day. Just don’t.
It’s Saturday morning. All of downtown is in recovery mode after last night’s first round of PRIDE festivities. Even the birds are lazy in their singing.
You are so tired. You are so cramped up. You need a nap. You deserve a nap. Chamomile was a great choice. Now, go take a nap.
Now, I should do that, but I also already hit “Start streaming” on today’s Morning Writing so … I’m going to work on some very basic low-level thinking stuff and be real slow about it. Real slow, because I also just got a text saying to be ready to go to the choir thing at noon.
That feels like an okay compromise.
Originally published at Better Storytelling.