"I'm giving up on the 31 days writing challenge. It's making me homicidal." That was the text I just sent Marla at 9:30pm, the first day of the challenge. I am in bed trying to complete my first post except my otherwise house-trained family decided that this would be a good time to regress and act like savages.
I want to kill them.
In my defense, my day started at 5:45am when the thick-as-molasses fog decided to ruin my REMs, lame robot phone service calling to inform me of a 2-hour delay.
And now it's after 10:00pm, some 16 hours since the robot called, and I have yet to meet a single solitary uninterrupted moment with my thoughts. Heck, I don't even know if I've gone one whole minute without someone touching me. Why are people always touching me?
So it's either do bodily harm to my people or quit the challenge.
Oh, and Marla's response?
Dang it, Marla. I don't even like you anymore.
When Marla mentioned that she's doing the challenge, I thought, "Yeah, sure, I haven't been writing at all lately, but a commitment of 31 days straight seems like a good next step." It sort of fits with my, I'm going to be a vegan now even though my favorite condiment is cheese, especially when it's served with cheese. Or the time I couldn't jog 2 miles and so I looked at the calendar for a race to give me a motivating goal and I picked an ultramarathon. Normal people think, "I'm just going to build up my mileage a little at a time," and I think, "I'm gonna do that too, but double that, plus 20."
So here I am. Two hours before the end of day one, blogging about I don't even know what.
This doesn't even count as blogging.
I think I'm going to call this 31 days of whining like a brat.
Or 31 days of trying not to kill my family.
Or 31 days of no longer being friends with Marla.
Pretty much my October is starting off just like that Anne of Green Gables quote I see plastered all over the social medias, "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."
How's come no one wants to remember when little-miss-straw-hat-and-braids said, "My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes."
That's more like it, Anne. Me and you, girl. Kindred spirits.
Day One - challenge
Day Two - jazzercise
Day Three - rage
Day Four - buzz
Day Five - grace
Day Six - why
Day Seven - calling
Day Eight - pacifier
Day Nine - drive-thru
Day Ten - songbird
Day Eleven - temper
Day Twelve - goodnight
Day Thirteen - falsies
Day Fourteen - meow
Day Fifteen - messages
Day Sixteen - barf
Day Seventeen & Day Eighteen - forgot
Day Nineteen - school
Day Twenty - early
Day Twenty-One - sandman
Day Twenty-Two - why
Day Twenty-Three - drugs
Day Twenty-Four - voice
Day Twenty - Five - haunted
Day Twenty - Six - oils
Day Twenty - Seven - tonight
Day Thirty -
Day Thirty-One -