I haven’t slept much in the past few nights. I’m not sure what my problem is. I don’t feel stressed out, but my not-sleeping seems to be saying otherwise. I think I’m worried about my next short story. Not so much the writing of the story or coming up with an idea, but finding the actual time to write it.
These are busy times here in the land of the Supergenius. I have a really hard time saying no. I think it stems from the not-so-distant past where I was the loneliest girl in the world and had absolutely no social life at all. Now, I’m so afraid of going back to that time that I think I’m obliged to do every single thing anyone asks lest they grow tired of me and stop asking. It’s a sticky wicket, that’s for sure.
I keep telling myself if I just make it through the next week and a half without killing anyone all will be good.
The not sleeping has turned me into the emotional and intellectual equivalent of a bratty 4-year-old. Nothing is making me happy today, not at all, and I’m prone to randomly shouting “I hate everybody.” This makes me a joy to be around.