idle hands

it seems that i just cannot handle not having anything to do. when does my anxiety creep in the most? when i have no agenda. no plans. when i have to conjure up within myself the energy and strength to act as secretary of state. schedule my own time. oy. this whole “working from home” thing can be really. fucking. hard. sometimes. it’s a dance i play between bliss and torture. i can work anywhere i want, whenever i want. unfortunately, this means i can work anywhere, anytime, and thus often feel incredibly guilty about not working all the time, or feeling like i’m not working enough, or under my own volition, with the utmost efficiency.

being a perfectionist is a bitch. nothing is ever good enough. nothing is done the right way. everything could always be “so much better”. second guessing. low self confidence. oy. it all stems from perfection. perfection is unattainable, but hell, i’m so damn competitive and ambitious, i’ll try anyway. i could die trying. but fortunately, i’m too smart/apathetic for that.

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won’t the real slim shady please stand up?

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all you other slim shady’s are just imitating.

but white 90’s rappers aside… for the second post on this (gasp) blog (rinses mouth with listerine, spits), i’m gonna catch me up.

today, i speak about my work. i love my job. i really do. that whole ‘virgo’s must be in a role of service in order to feel fulfilled’ astrological nonsense may not be nonsense after all. i work to help hungry kids. sounds like a fucking line from How I Met Your Mother (which is addicting, by the way). hi, my name is Lucy and i help feed the starving children. i do. and i work from wherever the fuck i want, whenever the fuck i want. how did i get this lucky? how is so fucking perfect for me? well, maybe luck has nothing to do with it. let’s be clear: i have worked my ASS off for YEARS. FOR FREE. and now, it’s time to get what i deserve, and for the first time in a long time, i can say with conviction that i deserve it. i deserve to be happy and i deserve to have a good job and a beautiful boyfriend and a loving family and nice clothes and good food and rays of sunshine upon my face a even a nice fucking sea breeze blowing through my curly locks every once in a while. that’s been huge, saying that.

that “girl” that “lucy” of 2012 (the worst year EVER) is slowing dissolving back into the ground, like a morning-dew mushroom kissed by the sun. or, as i like to think of it, like that weird vampire bitch kid (played by kirsten dunst) a la interview with the vampire, touched by the deadly beams of sunlight on her undead dermatitis. mostly, an image of violence here seems necessary, as i hate that girl. i pity her. i want her to become dust and blow away to coat needles of faraway forest pines. she deserves to be repurposed. maybe anger isn’t right. i don’t hate myself. i understand why i did what i did and that i did NOT deserve to have something bad happen to me even though something bad did happen to me. i want to make something out of the ruin of my former self. and i want it to be ME. to be unique, sassy, confident, funny lucy. she’s in there. i see her.

no judging

no judging

on the reg. welcome to your blog, only person who will ever read this. justine was right about writing shit down. but hell, we’re faster typers than we are writers, anyhow. so, you’re in front of the fucking computer all day anyhow, why not take a break and WRITE. SHIT. DOWN. in the bubble. and series of tubes (thanks, Al Gore!) for inventing this internet. but we’re not ones for formal introductions. let’s skip the champagne and caviar and delve immediately into the juicy bullshit.