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I fail at human

My brain, as Thomas Dolby once sang, is like a sieve. I don't intend to forget things? But... it happens.

And when one of those things is as simple as checking my email as part of the process that makes sure my mother is still okay... I really fail at human.

Aliens, come take me away, because I am very obviously not of this world.

I'm at the stage where I have to scribe reminders on the back of my hand or I will forget things. I have to set a firkin timer so I will remember to check on the laundry.

It might because I have so many stresses that only matter to me going on. Damocles' sword tends to effect the memory. So, in order to attempt to bring order into my life... I'm going to get rid of a few of them.

Which means that the instant I am done with my Instant (and the associated publicity) I will be taking the things I need to mail and frelling mailing them. Then I come back, do my 500 words, and start the process of sending bits of Kung Fu Zombies off to one agent at a time on my list.

And I will have their checklist up so I can make sure I tick all the boxes.

...and then I'll breathe through a paper bag until I nearly pass out because anxiety is a bitch.

But I still have to do the afternoon ferrying about, which includes taking Chaos to the local Karate place to see if she likes it. If Mayhem gets a case of the Jealous, he can firkin join in at (I hope) no extra charge.

AND I gotta arrange dinner AND keep things in an approximation of order AND I really should sit down and re-wind all my handmade pins and AAAAAARRRRRGH.

I need someone to help me, I do. But I can't afford any help I need to get to the point where I can afford the help I need.

My sleep is effed up, my health is effed up, my days are effed up and I just want to hide until it goes away, but it won't go away until I make it go away, so I just gotta buckle up now and panic about it later.

And take my fucking supplements, FFS. I need whatever I can get.