I'm going to.

There are two burning balls of stress that've taken my sanity completely hostage. One has this iron grip right on the back curve of my neck,  the other yanks together every-single-blasted upper back muscle directly between my shoulder blades and it burns.

What am I going to do?

Answer:  Heat.  Apsrin.  Whining.

And on a different topic, I hate my job.

Extreme feelings of sludgy  failure filter my thoughts.  I'm terrified because I'm still not knowing what the future brings.

For what its worth, I actually have pursued the dreams, even though they did seem improbable and too daring.  I won't be in a retirement home wondering, 'What if I had just...' because I bloody well tried.

I'll keep trying, truth be told.

I say this as I can barely even move head on my neck muscles, feeling like they're going to spring any second.

I'm going to head downstairs and tidy the great room, attempt to organize all my paints, papers, and wash the tea trays.

Yes, I will admit I've been avoiding my workroom like the plague because the unfinished projects depress me.

The kitchen floors need a good bleaching, so do the cupboards.  My own clothes have piled up and threatened to avalanche off the parker knoll in the bedroom and cups, a zillion bits of paper, and colonies of dust bunnies have settled beside my bed. 

I am saying this out loud as I write this: "I am going clean it all up because I am capable and it'll do me some good."  (Though what I really mean is, "If I don't clean this up, The Snape is going to come home and give me the look, which will liquify my innards and make me slither around getting it done, because he'll be right in knowing I'm just feeling sorry for myself.")

I have to keep thinking positive.  It really will be alright in the end. 

This is Ms. Snape, choosing to at least grab the elastic of her big girl knickers and stepping forward because at least it's something and I need something when I really have no idea about anything.