And now I totally cannot stand to be in my own skin

Yes, it's one of THOSE kinds of days.

Where it would be better to simply go back to bed and start over. But it would be impossible, you see. Because shutting off the brain just isn't going to happen.

I am opting out of being around people, though. Just because I don't think I can be convincingly cheerful and fun. Just too blasted out of sorts.

Will go downstairs and quit playing on the computer and drink tea with the cats. Then perhaps think of something creative to do. Or not.

But the itchy feeling of needing to get the fuck out of my own skin remains. Little jabs of nervous energy, accompanied by the kind of ache that happens when sickness sets in. But there's no actual sickness present. Just the kind that goes with being sad. But not lonely. Just sad.

And the desire to just get over it. And move the hell on. Jiggedy jig.