I would just like one Sunday where the most exhausted person in the house is not the one that cleans and cooks.
Also, if you support horse racing, I probably fucking hate you. How about I put a metal bit in your mouth and then force you to physically over exert yourself for someone else’s viewing pleasure and financial gain? Animals are better than people, yet we continue to treat them like they’re not.
Vacation isn’t happening, which I kind of knew. But it still sucks. I don’t even care if Doug Hopkins told me to have no expectations.
Work is dead. Already. Or still. Depends on how you look at it and my sentence fragments.
Today is just weird. There’s no real reason I should be in such an odd mood, but I think I’m just disappointed the “one big, good thing” I needed to happen isn’t. But I don’t really need that.
I don’t have much to say. Life is strange and good and confusing, all at once. Mostly, I think too much and that’s okay.
I just want to sit around in the sunshine, drink sangria, talk about things that aren’t important at all and things that mean everything, and truly relax.
I’m away from home for one night and I just want to be back. I don’t like sleeping without Frank.