'Bout to, anyway. Very close to the precipice. So here I sit, in avoidance mode. I am going to close this post in exactly 9 minutes, finished or not. Because at that moment, I'll have exactly six hours until I meet with my most important client. I've done an incredibly shitty job for him this past month or so. I could blame it on the move/tax season/being distracted by Mr. Man, but I won't make excuses. I've gotta own it. I'm going to tell him how sorry I am. Waive April's fee. And give him an action plan for getting caught up. Back on my game.
In order to do that, I have GOT to find someone to organize my life. Or at least my office. Ok, six minutes, make that five, left.
Other sources of my anxiety include too much coffee (it's day 6 since I've given up Coke Zero), worry about my borderline bone density reading (Coke Zero's deplete calcium), trying to figure out how I'm gonna get The Daddler the hell out to Oakland for great-nephew's b-day party, rapture overload...
If I keep this up, I'll spontaneously combust. Literally. Actually, the misuse of the word "literally" has become a major fixation for me lately. It's a coping mechanism. At least I can feel good about knowing the difference between literally and figuratively. Very few people do. Now you'll hate me because you'll start noticing it.
Ok, better run. Time's up.....
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