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They found me on Sunday. I saw them coming in their drab, scruffy coats, and toddling on fat, little legs towards the house from every direction. They march over the ground like a little army of fuzzy awfulness. In through the windows, and under the door they scurried, a tide of gray, pint-sized blahs. Running does no good, oh don’t get me wrong you can duck and dodge for a while because they aren’t quick by nature. They are terribly relentless; eventually they will get you and once they grab you everything you touch in turn crumbles into a maelstrom of fail.

*Sigh*

Suddenly even simple task, like spelling monosyllabic words or cooking a dish you’ve cooked one hundred times before and could prepare blindfolded, start going wrong left and right…or right and left, wait, there’s a hand thing for this, dang it…

…nothing is as easy as it should be with their damp, cold little paws dragging at you all day long.

I even tried taking a nap to shake them, The Blahs. Sometimes that works, but no, I woke hours later still covered in them, having only succeeded in making myself groggy. My The Blahs got so bad I didn’t even write. My story called ot me; little voices echoing out from my computer’s casing,

“Help us, help us! We have unfinished dialog and incomplete character development!”

I curled into a tighter ball under my shield of blankets and turned up the music from my Spotify playlist. “Shut the heck up, I have The Sad from too much of The Blahs.”

Yesterday was better. Yesterday I was medicated with, The Starbucks. It pretty much cures everything.

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2 Comments

  1. Mmm, the Starbucks… I’m about to try your spicy hot chocolate stuff myself.


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