I twist my guts up over what ifs and could be-s and “god, I fucking hope not”-s. Make myself sick with thoughts that sicken me. Okay. Whatever. I try to shut it up and move on. Focus on the good and try to crush the worm of it. It turns out I want to be a handler. Makes sense in ways, but I still found myself a bit surprised, when it came upon me. I plan to plan a scene that focuses heavily in that direction. For soon. For Saturday even, possibly. I dunno. there really are so many things I want to do. How do I make them all fit? I need to be working. I have quite a bit of shit that I have to finish by tomorrow night, and I’m planning on heading in to see my parents for a bit tomorrow, so like…. that’s another thing I have to compensate for, time wise. I need more activity, more exercise. I did a little today but it’s not enough. it’s not enough. Okay, time to write some shit. I feel weird and trapped and gross. Maybe because I’ve hardly been out of the house in a few days, and I haven’t talked to like… hardly anyone. Maybe I’ll feel better after getting out tomorrow and seeing people. I dunno. ugh. I just feel weird and sort of bad in general I guess. I finished one of the *paid in a month* freelance articles I said I would do, only one more of those to go, due early tomorrow, and six more product description ones, due Saturday morning. Gross. I need to finish that one, and then two of the others, and then I can do four tomorrow and it should be fine. Okay, the one is done. It might not pass the editor stage because I really don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I’ll fix ’em if I have to.Two more to go, and I already started them a little. I’m hoping to be done by 2:45, so I can get a tiny bit of sleep. Ugh. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing … like… in life. Okay. I finished writing those things. I’m going to go the fuck to sleep now. It’s 5 minutes ’till 2:45. oh boy. Okay, yeah. I’m out. Peace.