came home with a mission

I haven't even been here two weeks and already my bedroom is a complete fucking catastrophe. I don't know what it is about this city, but I just can't seem to keep my shit together here. This, of course, is the case on many levels. I need to clean so badly. And make cards. And play Scrabble with my mother. And start packing. And finish the poem I started last night and collage the bottom of my longboard and spend my Christmas money. But my uterus is trying to kill me and I have Girl Blues and everything just seems like such a big chore. I want to listen to Shawn Colvin and read the Globe in bed wearing nothing except my underwear until Friday afternoon. Unfortunately, there never seems to be any time for this. Ever.