Word Dump on a Wednesday Evening

The two shitty things about trying to write again are the writer's block and the perfectionism. I have so many things I want to say, but I am not sure how to put it on paper. When I do finally put it on paper, I want it to sound good. Both of these things are ridiculous reasons to not write, especially when I am trying to do this as a therapeutic exercise, but that is just how it is in my mind. With that said, here is an imperfect word dump after a few days of writer's block.

Today, I ate Cheez-Its and M&Ms for dinner. I am a grown woman who enjoys cooking and has a fridge full of groceries, and I chose to eat Cheez-Its and M&Ms for dinner. There was nothing particularly busy about my evening. I had plenty of time to cook a better, healthier meal. I just chose not to. And that's it 

Here is what else I did this evening: 

I sat on the couch and watched Netflix. I finished "The Queen's Gambit." Great show. I cried. 

I looked up cheap plane tickets to places better than here for spring break, despite covid. My wanderlust is strong. Either that, or I want to run away from all of my problems. 

I scrolled through Facebook and Instagram. There was nothing exciting happening.  

I took a shower. I call that a win for the evening after the Cheez-it, M&M dinner debacle. 

I cleaned cat poop off my bedroom rug not once, but twice... Yes, you read that correctly. 

My old man cat, Reggae,  likes to leave us presents anywhere other than his litter box. He either does this to spite us when he is angry, or he is senile. He leaves these presents everywhere. On the floor, counter, my bed, my roommate's bed, the entryway, my bedroom rug, right outside of my other cat's litter box, in a doorway so my boyfriend can conveniently step in a soft pile barefooted etc. He (my cat, not my boyfriend) is currently locked in the bathroom with his litter box and his food bowl for the night, as punishment. I am sure he will poop somewhere, as punishment to me, once he is finally let out in the morning. Let's just hope it is not my bed this time.

What I am now doing is writing this journal and blaring Fleetwood Mac's Rumors on vinyl in order to relax. I also am blaring Fleetwood Mac so I can drown out the sounds of loud, obnoxious, "I'm dying" meows from the bathroom. My neighbors probably think that we are torturing him, starving him, or trying to kill him... We only are torturing him a little bit; he is so dramatic. 



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