I've already got a bunch of stuff done today. I posted some flash fiction earlier, in spite of my mortal dread of putting my baby out there for consumption (go nuts with the constructive criticism, folks!), did some tidying, made soup, fed the worms, gave the plants some love (& worm pee) & so on. I'm also finalising a back-to-school application by putting the finishing touches on a portfolio of writing, and I actually feel kindof satisfied with that.
It's 2.24 pm. So why the hell do I feel like I have accomplished nothing of worth today? This isn't even a rant. When I fail at ranting, I'm really failing. I can always rant.
I do not like my brain chemistry, because my brain chemistry does not like me. Fuck you, brain.
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