More crap from Houghton

This, I declare unto you, will not be a good post. I am doing this primarily to spite young Eddius, who thinks by his complaints he can push me around. I am a free spirit! an unbound entity! I am an artist! and I shall do as I please! That being said, I feel very contrary tonight. Very irritable, very...petulant. Basically I feel like throwing myself down on the floor and flailing and whining and having a big ol' tantrum about things that are nobody's fault but mine. I think the only thing that keeps me from doing so is the fact that our floor's not vacuumed very often. For example...I have been trying to get myself geared up to write this fiction story all weak. I am staunchly resisting my own attempts at persuasion as procrastination rears her ugly head. (Why is procrastination a woman? Why is everything unpleasant personified as a woman? Stupid male chauvinist trojan horse...) So tonight I came home and just felt exhausted because I feel like I have been spending a lot of time with people, a lot of time feeling exceedingly passionate and railing about things (like Star Wars kid and Cat Shaver kid, but also happy things like getting excited about spiritual reading and Project Paul) but my passion always exhausts me so. I am telling you, by the time I get to Wednesday, I just start to crash. Which would have been okay if I had worked on this story thing on Monday or Tuesday evening. But first, when I got home at 8 I took a nap. For an hour and a half. At 8:00 at night. No, no don't ask me, I don't know why either, I've just felt disfunctional all evening. And then I woke up feeling very petulant indeed and continuing to internally resist writing this story and thinking about maybe showering instead, but instead I went and cut out the comics for us to hang on the wall, I footled about with Susannah, I played with the e-mail and went to postsecret...you know what, I don't even know what I did but I have wasted the past 3 hours!!! doing nothing!!! And I feel malaisical about life and about how nobody writes me and I'm tired of having to think all the time, to be the kind of person who talks about gender roles and marriage and the future and the idiocies of Focus on the Family and who is concerned about the place of Christianity in the arts and environmentalism and craft and the nature of stewardship and dealing with friends who are dating and dialoging about the state of the Church and all of these things that supposedly make up my life, and do make up my life and I actually do love, but there has been no shower and no story-writing (which, by the way is another thing that I passionately do want to do and see thrive in its existence; the story not the shower, though that would be nice too) and I don't even know what all is going on in the soul of me. But by crackey, I can vent it all by writing a crappy post, which no one will read because it has no literary merit whatsoever. Well, see if I care, I don't care about excellence anymore, at least not for tonight. I should have just gone to sleep at 8 and then straight on till morning for all I've accomplished. (and look, the whole post is one paragraph...people hate when I do this but I'm not changing it!)