Fuck Moderation. It’s my new isolation motto. Hope you like it
I thought a little self-improvement might be helpful, you know, so I put the fork down, gave myself some eyebrows, put in little silver earrings, thought about brushing my hair, and went for a walk. My neighbour said I looked tired. You’ll never guess where I hid the body
Also I have discovered that when your clothes are a little tight you can get your workout in while you dress. Holyfuckingshit. It’s yoga! Also you can get most of your swearing done in one deeply satisfying bout if you are so inclined. I like to spread mine thickly throughout the day but you do you whatever the fuck that means because it conjures an image of contortion that I have to vigorously blink away – another workout!
I don’t know where I stand on all this mask bullshit but I was thinking this might be the time to start following fashion trends and I ordered a fetching little fuschia (fuck off spell check) number and you know what?
I actually look better with it on. Like who knew?
We had such nice weather on the weekend that I thought I’d get the winter stuff put away this week and after an hour or so of very zen-like behaviour I decided Marie Kondo can just go fuck herself.
I mean every time I hold something and ask the question does this give me joy? the answer is almost always yes but Marie Kindo probably didn’t plan on me doing my sorting single-handedly as in my other hand busy with wine. So I single-hand-half-ass-folded everything I’d piled on the bed and shoved it all in a green garbage bag because I couldn’t find a see-through bag because looking for a see-through bag is basically looking for something invisible and I waste enough time doing that with my wine glass.
So I’ve got one big burly bag of mostly coats although I think there’s my coffee in there somewhere and maybe my glasses – and I’m done motherfuckers – that’s it!
I don’t know if any of you have been reading Clutterbucks, but I just gotta tell you that between writing an episode a week, making up crosswords and word searches and artful doodles for work which is really a misnomer, and going all extreme in the kitchen which means making a sparkling and healthy soup or salad one minute and combining butter, sugar, flour and just about anything else the next, I’m so busy I don’t have time to lose my shit.
Also I avoid the news like the plague
But there’s always somebody willing to fill me in and even when I say DON’T TELL ME when I feel a newsflash coming on, it’s like they have some kind of compulsive condition or something because it’s like they HAVE to spew it or they’ll choke on it which for my money, is preferable. But I don’t have to listen and my current line is my phone’s dying which I usually say right after hello so they won’t think I’ve dropped dead or anything when I hang up.
Also, and I guess this is age-related – and I guess it’s also age-related that I am telling you this – I have like seven leg-hairs now. Sigh. What the fuck? And you should see my chin etcetera and I spelled that out because abbreviating anything so wide-spread and flourishing seems wrong.
I’m totally with Darwin and everything but what kind of fucky evolutional scheme is this?
You guys probably all know what Medium is, right? So I just got my Daily Read Suggestion, like right now, and it’s this: 15 Signs You’re Emotionally Mature. You gotta be kidding. Think I’m gonna click on that shit? They should know me better than that.
There are signs of my emotional maturity all over the house and I don’t need 15 reminders
First thing you see when you get here is a very small sign on my front door that says: BEWARE OF DOG and then underneath in small print: THE CATS ARE SHADY AS FUCK ALSO. And it’s pretty much downhill from there.
