Phooey

I am up to my tits in shoes/clothes/books/SHIT. I hate packing at whittling down my lovely stuff into piles of what I need (which, according to Ezr, is like two boxes) and don't need (almost everything).

I hit a new low today, when Ezra was in the shower, I had to shit so bad that I stood near the litterbox and almost went in there. I didn't, and just made Ezra hurry up, but I totally could have. I couldn't hold it (big salad last night) and it was massivly poking out. I hate myself sometimes.

Not working is very time consuming with the television and all. I like it.

I feel lightheaded with stress and the shit I must get done.