Writing Continues
I woke up around 0630 and got to work right away. I worked on my story that I wrote up the other night. I finally typed it up and added to it as I did so. It felt good to be productive before having breakfast and coffee. I had my breakfast but I didn’t have cream so I walked up the street to get it. I was completely exhausted by the time I came back home. Mind you, I wasn’t gone for more than twenty minutes. I am glad I opted for going to going out rather than showering. My ankle is having a fit and a half for walking and going up and down stairs. I almost took a tumble yesterday and in balancing myself, I had to put my weight on my bad ankle. It hasn’t been the same since. But it’s not terribly swollen. It just hurts more.
I worked on my paper. It’s a little more than 500 words but there is plenty of room to work on it. I sent it to my psychiatrist but haven’t heard feedback on it. I am glad to work on something. After I typed it up, I just let it sit for a bit. Because it isn’t finished, I didn’t blog it. I am going to print it out and see how it looks and maybe go over it tomorrow after therapy. Course, it all depends on how my ankle is doing.
I have to go to the mall sometime this week to get some clothes for a wedding I will be attending in two weeks. None of my dress clothes fit me anymore because of the damn weight I have gained. I am going to try looking online first before actually going to the mall. I might have better luck finding my waist and a 29 length. Course if my ankle doesn’t calm the fuck down, there won’t be a wedding to go to.
I am so pissed right now. My fucking cousin called me because my mother had grocery bags. I told him I was busy and he just played it off. That is what pissed me off more than anything, like my writing is just playing. Sorry buddy, but it is my vocation, you jerk. I go down the second flight of stairs and my ankle acts up. I can’t put any weight on it. Fuck. I shouldn’t have answered the damn phone. Then my mother gets out of the car and is in fucking pain. She won’t get out of the way so my cousin can get the stupid bags he refuses to bring up the one flight of stairs. He doesn’t have any physical problems. He just is a lazy fucking bastard. My mother tells me she bought me yogurt. It’s the light and fit kind, which I do not like. So she just wasted her money. Three fucking bags the asshole couldn’t bring up the stairs. I am livid. He does this all the time. He knows I am on disability because of my ankle. Does he fucking care? No. He only cares if I have a few extra bucks in my pocket. Asshole. He really is. Next time I am not answering the damn phone. Fuck them. Now I have to take extra pain meds because I really am hurting. No way I will be able to take a shower tonight. Thank you fucking cousin for the extra pain you brought me.
My therapist hasn’t answered my text and it’s getting late so I doubt there will be a session today. I don’t fucking care anymore. I am too pissed to talk anyway. I might have to take an Ativan to calm down. My neck is killing me from the stress of being so angry and not having anyone to yell at. I think I need a nap. My mother is probably going to call soon as I get to the point of sleeping to see what I want for dinner. So screw that. Hope she doesn’t want me to make dinner because that is so not happening. I can barely fucking stand. I hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom because that will suck having to go back downstairs. I am not hungry anyways. If I get hungry later, I will try and make the French bread pizza. I haven’t had lunch but I am still full from my late breakfast and the coffee killed my appetite.
I hope my ankle is better by tomorrow. I need to get out of the fucking house and seriously focus on my writing. It fucking sucks that I get no support from my family, just my psychiatrist and therapist. How sad is that? Sure, my sisters are supportive. They never interrupt me while I am writing but then, they usually don’t call while I am as they work during the week.
midnightdemons7 