I should get, “Just because you have a sudden urge to weep, that doesn’t mean you’ve made a mistake” tattooed to my back.
There’s a party happening somewhere in my building complex. I can hear it through my closed windows. They’re probably chugging alcohol through their buttholes, but what do I know? I’m watching Moana before it leaves Netflix—who am I to judge?
“Are you okay?” my inner voice asked, as I shakily poured wine into an adult sippy cup to take my dog out for a walk. No, not really, but thanks for asking, Concerned Inner Voice of My Empty Being.
I’ve had several people from my Facebook fan club recently tell me some variation of, “You’re hilarious but I’m concerned about you.” A just concern, my dear friends, a just concern.
Well, as I shouted from my seat in the theater as Coldplay’s “Yellow” in Mandarin played over the final scenes and the credits began to roll, “I AM SO FAT AND UGLY AND BROKE.”
I can’t help but notice my diatribes getting longer and longer… but that might be because I’m getting more desperate. Is the URL sendhelp.com available?
I don’t know, my life is kind of turning into a carnival, and I’m kind of losing control over the situation.
It has been one month since my return from the holy Motherland, and, IDK, you tell me how I’m doing.
I officially broke the seal today. I cried at work. In front of everyone. Anyone who has ever seen me in an office setting has seen me cry at least once, guaranteed. Maybe it was the anniversary of Paul Walker’s death. Maybe it was one of the thousands of times Leo took “an attempt upon […]