Nightmare.

I've been dreading today for the past four days, and it hasn't started out very well. I woke to finish my PS paper on Tiananmen Square. After my failed attempt at mustering the will to edit I began to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich. While grabbing the first piece of bread out of the bag I took the butter tray off the shelf, threw all the dirty dishes on the counter into the sink, shoved the garbage from the counter into an empty box jutting out of the trash bin, and searched for the frying pan in the drying rack. As I picked up the cooking spray off of the microwave I noticed a greasy ring left in its place. Ignoring my urge to cry at the grease ring, the mold I found in the dish in the sink, and the wilting flowers I went ahead and opened the butter tray to begin my sandwich preparation. Irritated at the remaining slice of butter left I buttered one side of the bread and somehow managed to drop the knife. Within one instant the knife managed to bounce off of the floor, onto my toe, and back onto the floor again. With butter on my two I plopped the bread in the pan before finishing my preparation. As I clamoured to get the cheese out of the fridge and placed on the sandwich in time I thought my success was near at hand - even if I accidentally used an end piece. I flipped the sandwich and decided to make an instant cup of soup. I ripped open the bag and placed its contents and water in a bowl. As I made my way to the microwave I noticed a burning sandwich. I jabbed the microwave button to open the door. The aggressiveness of my jabbing knocked over the soda on top of the microwave (next to the grease spot) which then hit the bowl out of my hand. As the contents of my soup splattered the lovely fire alarm went off and I'm sure I heard something in the background clatter and clash to the ground. I was left a mess, with butter on my big foot, instant soup sprinkled along my black pants, the left over noodles in between the crevices of my toes, the smoke in my eyes, and the blaring alarm in my head - I was annoyed. I cleaned up the mess with a plethora of Clorox wipes - which were the saving part of this routine. The soup had fallen onto the broom and mop - a truly nasty part of our kitchen. This time, with little patience, I grabbed a stick of butter out of the fridge and used a huge meat knife to cut it and melt it over the burner before spreading it on the bread. With chunks of butter over the bread I successfully made a grilled cheese sandwich. Without a tray I put the butter on the shelf and took my sandwich to eat.

The apartment is a mess. I can't take it - but if I begin cleaning I won't stop. And if I don't stop I won't finish editing my paper. I won't turn everything in that I need to graduate. I'll also forgo going to work. At which point I will loose my job. As I will not have a diploma or a job I will have no way to secure a job or make money. I will then not be able to pay for food. Then I'll starve and die. And John will be really sad. Stupid mess.