It’s a bit scary how true this is. I blame the bar. I blame EVERYTHING on the bar.
the main phrase running through your head for the day is, “You could not possibly imagine the enormity of the fuck I do not give” things are going extremely well. And that’s about pretty much everything.
Yesterday I felt all giddy and ridiculous and today I feel fat and stupid. (Cue someone saying, “You aren’t fat!”)
My mom, who I successfully haven’t seen in two days, comes home and says, “How can you sit in here? It’s so stuffy!” All I can think is “It’s not immediately related to me needing to perform some necessary bodily function or outlining law, I can not possibly muster the energy to pay any attention to it.” The house, frankly, could be on fire, and until it became clear that I was in imminent danger, I wouldn’t move. So the kitchen window isn’t open. Am I supposed to notice/pay attention/care about this? I sure as shit hope not. Because I don’t.
Today is bar freak out day. Today I lose my shit and cry on the floor of the house while the dog looks at me like “The fuck?” More on it over here.
I’m trying not to panic too much. It’s all gonna be fine.
I’m going to soothe myself with dark chocolate and Dr Pepper. And maybe a burrito. Yes. A burrito.
And the Brooks Laich tag I follow. Brooksy will fix everything. (I have a serious problem.)