Nerves

I'm preparing to send a package to someone through the mail. It worries me almost to the point of getting cold feet. Yeah, I have some anxiety issues.

First of all, this isn't just any old package. This is a package full of really awesome stuff that I made. I put my heart and soul into these things. Drawings and a little figurine. They're little pieces of me that I'm handing to someone with doe eyes hoping they like them, or that I'll even hear that they get this stuff. 

Secondly, it's not just to any old person. It's to a guy I really like. Need I say more?

Put those two things together -- giving stuff I made to a guy I really like.

And then you have the fact that I just waited a week for something that was 2-day priority, so I don't have a hell of a lot of faith in the USPS right now.

Nerves make me feel like puking, and I'm just about at that point right now. Gotta be strong. Gotta find a box to put this shit in and be strong.

Distractible

Or would that be spelled 'distractable'?

I won't go into the details of how my life living solo in a one bedroom apartment has devolved into complete chaos (that seems worth its own post) but suffice to say it's one big mess of dirty dishes, passing out on the living room floor, and eating ice cream at three in the morning. It's really not as drunken as it sounds.

So, devolved into dirty dishes. Like, I didn't have anything to cook with or eat with, and the dishwasher is all fucked up and spewing these weird little granules of sort of whitish, kinda clear... something. I don't know what. I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what. That's shit I eat off of, you know? Well, not with the granules, but still.

I hate washing dishes. I don't mean like, oh, I just don't care for it but I'll do it anyway because I'm an adult and I have to. I fucking hate washing dishes with a fiery passion that puts atomic bombs to shame. I'd sell my soul to the devil if he'd agree to wash them for the rest of my life. Oddly, I don't have an issue at all with doing it if I'm in a relationship with someone, but put me by myself and I'll let them rot in the sink before I touch them. I swear I tried. I bought fancy clementine scented dish soap and told myself I'd just wash each dish as I used it so they didn't pile up. Nah, that lasted about no dishes worth and those bitches piled up high.

Having a dishwasher is pretty cool. I'd never had one before living in this apartment unless you count my grandma when she was alive. It'd be a lot cooler if it worked properly and washed instead of depositing sediment all over my bowls and glasses. Then I could eat, and that's really all I'm concerned with 80% of the time. I don't even have a pan to cook a cheap $1 frozen pizza on. I considered just putting it on the oven rack, pizza commando, but I don't know who has lived here before me and what they've spilled on that oven rack or how well it's been cleaned... so no.

Now, I could have sucked it up and washed the dishes by hand. That fancy soap is sitting there just begging to be used, and the devil wasn't showing up to offer to do it for me. Instead I whipped out a handful of toothpicks and a pair of pliers and sat on the kitchen floor prying shit out of the dishwasher vents and nozzles. I don't know what I found, but it looked like someone had crammed calcified cigarette filters into the thing. Now I'm about to see how that made a difference. I got a lot of dirty dishes in there right now.

And I still haven't eaten.

And instead of eating I'm writing this.

I could go for a Pop-Tart...