Burned Out Caregiver Can-Can

Monday, June 1st, 2026

The phone and the IPad are in the lockbox. I don’t have anything to access  the internet. I gave myself two hours of no internet today.        

Now what? Ha. 

Now I sit my fat ass in my oversized recliner and write. LIke I long promised myself I would, instead of wasting all fucking damned day on the Internet. Here goes. 

Claude AI, that eternal suck-up, encourages me to do more writing. Hell. Claude would encourage me to jump off a skyscraper if that’s what I’d wanted to do. 

Don’t trust AI. They’ll only agree with you. Just like therapists. They won’t call you out on your bullshit and mistakes. 

I need a human beta reader. I want to be read by human eyes. Even if I have to pay for them. I’m that desperate. 

“But why,” I ask myself. 

“There’s a ton of other things I should be doing. Working, grocery shopping, socializing, budgeting, anything.” 

True. The above are all productive, worthwhile things. The only non-negotiable is working my day job. I work and I do chores and errands to live; writing is WHY i live!  It keeps my soul alive during hard times. 

Then write, you braggart! Write a stupid poem; a short story; a blog post;  anything! Put your money where your unbrushed teeth in your mouth are, and write! Don’t just sit and write about how you’re such a “writer,” Do it, already! Talk is cheap. Action is priceless. 

WHat else ya got? 

467 words 

WHat else have I got?                

You’re not half as brilliant as Claude AI says you are. Not even 0.0004th of a percent. 

That’s it, Jane. Make that low self esteem pay off for you! 

So. What else have you got? What else do you have to say? 

Nothing. KL wasn’t that bad this weekend. Saturday and Sunday, all she did was snooze. All I did was listen to music and doomscroll. 

On my own time, I’m not very stimulated. I could use more stimulation. Going out at night. Books. Doing virtual open mic nights. Doing my cringe comedy. If you could call it that. 

    740 words. 

Fuck that shit! I got to get a real job. Something during the weekdays. Something that pays when old Lyons dies. Which she might do any damned day! 

Shit. I hate job hunting. I could get a caregiver job like that (Snaps fingers) if I only had a fucking car! But I don’t. Therefore, I’m unemployed. 

I gotta get a job. 

Sucks. 

Oh, for a writing job! A job I can do! I work in which I write for something or someone. 

BUt I have no fucking work ethic. Resistance is kicking my ass. Hell! It’s already been kicked up and down both the west and east coast! Steven Pressfield would scream at me. 

856 words. 

My life is full of nuthin! 

Oh, God. Please show me what to do with my life! This is an invitation, God! Please! I need all the heavenly hosts to show me what I’m supposed to do with my life. Please show me how I can get a writing job. Even the lowest of the low writing jobs. I’m not proud. Hell, even a volunteer writing job! Something for my portfolio. Something I can use! 

My blog, Making Wrongs Write. When’s the last time I worked on that? Heck, does anyone even read blogs anymore? I thought short video tic toxics were all the rage. 

You Tube piss and moaners going on about nothing at all. Total YouTube Time Waste.

On Rube Tube and Tic Toxic. 

  995 words. 

I’m making my 1000 word quota today! Hurray! Hooray, horray, horray! I made my 1000 word quota today! 

I wrote 1000 words in my personal journal. Not in this post. I edited this post for WordPress. I was going to publish this on FB. Since FaceWaste is nothing but a social media bragging site, I may as well blow sunshine and rainbows up my own behind. 

Amazing what you can do when you put your phone and Ipad in the lockbox, unplug the internet modem, make a cuppa, and get to work. 

But why stop at 1000 words? Keep going, if you have more to give. If you have more to say. Some men complain about having blue balls. I haven’t written for so long, I have blue brains. It wants to come out.