I really need to start packing up my stuff...but I'm having a block to it.
For one: I have to pack after work, and I never want to do anything after work.
Two: I've packed and moved so many times I'm an expert...however, I've always packed for efficiency...never for couch surfing. I can't seem to start getting my shit into boxes because I don't even know where to start.
Instead, I've invoked my 72 hrs...
Don't know what that is? I'll explain...
When life gets too overwhelming, stressful, depressing, whatever...and I feel my grip starting to slip...
Rather than fighting it, which I've always found simply delays the inevitable, I give myself up to, but not exceeding 72 hours of indulgent misery.
That means I go do whatever the fuck I want to indulge myself...drink too much, not eat, eat too much, not sleep, sleep too much, call into work, and my favorites, sink into my worst case scenarios to the point that I believe they are the absolute certain outcome...and spout whatever depressive bullshit I want to at innocent bystanders...
When the 72 hours are up, that's it. Gotta get up, brush myself off, and get back to living.
So last night at approximately 8:30pm I invoked my 72 hours...
And no, I didn't pack a goddamned thing, instead I drank half a bottle of tequila and cried myself to sleep.
Back off...I have 61 hours left...
Anything I say from here on out...take with a grain of salt...
You've been warned...
For one: I have to pack after work, and I never want to do anything after work.
Two: I've packed and moved so many times I'm an expert...however, I've always packed for efficiency...never for couch surfing. I can't seem to start getting my shit into boxes because I don't even know where to start.
Instead, I've invoked my 72 hrs...
Don't know what that is? I'll explain...
When life gets too overwhelming, stressful, depressing, whatever...and I feel my grip starting to slip...
Rather than fighting it, which I've always found simply delays the inevitable, I give myself up to, but not exceeding 72 hours of indulgent misery.
That means I go do whatever the fuck I want to indulge myself...drink too much, not eat, eat too much, not sleep, sleep too much, call into work, and my favorites, sink into my worst case scenarios to the point that I believe they are the absolute certain outcome...and spout whatever depressive bullshit I want to at innocent bystanders...
When the 72 hours are up, that's it. Gotta get up, brush myself off, and get back to living.
So last night at approximately 8:30pm I invoked my 72 hours...
And no, I didn't pack a goddamned thing, instead I drank half a bottle of tequila and cried myself to sleep.
Back off...I have 61 hours left...
Anything I say from here on out...take with a grain of salt...
You've been warned...
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
you ok?
*smooch*