I have a good fifteen minutes to write before I know I will get antsy and need to step outside and walk around a park/tree museum and stare at the crows and sparrows and clouds. The clouds are so strange today! Then again, most things are strange to me most days. As it should be. If you cannot find at least 47 and a half strange things throughout a typical day, then what's the point of continuing to live? No no no, I joke. There is always a point to continue on, soldier. Don't throw in the towel just yet.
I won't throw in the towel if you don't throw in the towel. Let neither of us do any kind of towel throwing, no matter how tempting.
The clouds have been perhaps the only strange thing I've picked up on today. Other than that, I've felt rather bland. A blank slate. Clean, sure, but blank. Blank and robotic, but with anxiety buzzing beneath the surface. Try as I might to put the medical bill dilemma out of my head for at least a few hours so that I can function and take care of my other daily responsibilities, I have failed. It has occupied most of my tired mind. Hey, at least it's momentarily elbowing Ed out of the way. Every strange cloud has a silver lining.
And this is all money based. That's the real bummer. If we were just concerned with my health, I'd be way more optimistic and not nearly as frustrated. But bring money into the picture and you've just brought me down. Again, that's a real bummer. Smell ya later, Family City. It's Bummer City from now on, folks.
Okay, not from now on. Just temporarily. I'll recover and my motivation will return. I hope. I am doing a lot of hoping. A lot of hoping and paying of bills I cannot afford and baking bread. I bake bread constantly when I am anxious. Even when I am not anxious. Golly, I should just become a baker and make bank. Is that the phrase? "Make bank"? I wouldn't know because I've always ignored money until, gasp, I could no longer ignore it. Time for this tired anemic chick to become a financially responsible tired anemic chick. In other words, I'll always be a chick. SCHWING.
Yes, schwing. I shall leave this post on that word. It's time for me to wander around the tree museum now and stare at the clouds. Clouds don't have medical bills. Lucky sons of bitches.