I looked through the open job listings at my company this morning. But there's nothing suited to my skills.
Saturday I left the crypt and shopped like mad, distracting myself from the rest of my life, winding up with sore feet and bags of Bon-Macy bargains. Also my landlords had given me a holiday gift card for Bed, Bath, & Beyond. I thought it was $10 or so, but it turned out to be $50.
Today I am spring-striped with new shoes and it's nearly seventy degrees outside.
Fannishly I'm out of step. My flist no longer reflects my interests. People have moved on to new fandoms and pairings. Enthusiams I don't share. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I think my last noir story disappointed and confused most readers. I'm floating in a void. It's dull here. Nothing interests me. I keep starting things and scrapping them.
And now, lunch. I notice that I always post just before lunch. I post and then I run off to escape the echoing sound of one hand clapping.