mad.

I don't want to do anything, but I still have half a kitchen to clean.
I feel oddly depressed and I just found a strange insect hanging out on my arm like everything was cool.
Not so much.
At least almost the whole kitchen is done.
I need to take the trash out but I don't want to put on pants.
I need to put the laundry away but I fucking refuse.
I should finish the dishes, or I could just put them all in a laundry basket and hide them in the closet.
I want to take a cold bath. And a cold shower. And put on cold pajamas and get into a cold bed and turn on the AC and freeze overnight.
I want to wake up magically transported back to the coast of Lake Huron where even in August you wake up cold and put on a sweatshirt. Or a fucking jacket.
I want a cold fucking beer. I want nachos and cherries and a bottle of really fucking expensive wine.
I want to have had the elastic I wanted for my hipsters and not be using some miscellaneous elastic I had lying around the craft dresser.
I want Jon to be home and I want to cry and I want to grow the fuck up and stop being such a whiny bitch and I want to smack my Mother and I wish I had some fucking Valium right now because I'm pretty sure I just need to CALM THE FUCK DOWN.
I need to go wash some more dishes and listen to Tori until I'm ready to move on to something more cynical.
And decide if
a. I'm going to be a heinous cunt to all my customers tomorrow or
b. I'm going to be really really sticky sweet to them so I can laugh at my ability to force them into things and be a heinous cunt to my coworkers in compensation. or
c. Really fuck things up timeline-wise, and let everybody have an extra 15 minutes on break and wind up with an extra 45 minutes myself that way.
So hard to choose.