I need to pack. I need to pack and I don't feel like it. I need to pack and I need to take Damien for a walk. I need to pack and Damien needs to be walked and I need to wash my hair. I can't remember the last time I washed my entire head of hair. I need to pack and walk Damien and wash my hair and I need to work out. I've been a big ole' stress ball all day and a half an hour on the treadmill would have made all the difference in the world. I need to pack and walk Damien and shower and exercise and be at work before 9pm. I have one hour to do all of these things, enough time to get them done and maybe have a second left over to eat something, because I've had two diet Pepsis and two cups of coffee and a Clif bar and I do not think that is helping my stress level.
Mostly, though, I need to relax, so I am going to drink this beer, breathe slowly, and assume everything else will get done in its own good time (i.e., 3am when I get off work).
I will look back on my early 20s with desperation for the little girl who exists now to find some self-respect hiding in the couch cushions, or something.