At the my weekend job writing because I have to write. Because I haven't wrote in awhile. I just haven't had the time to put anything down.
Gosh. I am so tired. This is what happens when writers don't write for sometime. They just complain about things. Write about all the bad things that are happening. Let pent up untold qualms purge. This writing is most annoying. So. I am going to let it out as quickly and as thoroughly as possible.
I miss silence and non-movement. Just to be in one's space. Breathe one's own air and eat one's own food. To sit on my deck and invite a few friends over. Make some lemonade. I don't know. I work, every day. When I get home I work out. Then all of a sudden it's ten o'clock and I have to go to bed. And I am always tired.
My sister is making me crazy. Accusing me of negligence, accusing me of not being myself, not being spontaneous or fun. And I'm avoiding phone calls and messages for party's that I want to go to. And I hate that. It's everyday. Everyday I spend so much time in a space that is not my own. Places where I can't be myself. Can't get angry. Can't say, "fuck" or "bitchass" or whatever I want to say.
I just want to have a day to look forward to that is mine. My own day, full of my own things.
Okay. That is done.
This zine needs to get done. I need to develop a plan for my booth at the zine symposium. I need a sub for my booth, someone to juggle the workshops with booth sitting. Theme; hang in there. I need a bird cage. I need to make hair clips. I need something for display. More work.
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