diary: sleep deprivation and the tidy-up song
i should practice writing these diary entries. right now i'm on my phone but realistically a lot of them may end up being typed here, even though the length on things i type by finger (as opposed to thumb) naturally stretches longer.
one of my best friends is coming to visit tomorrow and i feel so silly about how unswept the two clumps of cat hair on my floor are. it doesn't matter that they're someone who i know has lived in conditions almost as bad as my flat in derbyshire with the hole in the wall, because it's not about the house but about my ability to keep it clean. it should be easy to keep it clean, surely? it shouldn't be so hard just to get up?
but it is. and i know why it is, and so does everyone else, and so does my best friend coming to visit specifically to try and comfort me with a fun little weekend.
... i hate that everything tracks back to the divorce. i hate that i can't not think about it late at night when the hyperviligance i picked up is at its worst.