Being back at work is SAPPING MY WILL TO LIVE. All this STUFF happened while I was away, and now i am expected to CARE and to DO THINGS ABOUT IT. GOD.
At least today is not as sunny and delish as yesterday, when all I was capable of doing was sinking into black despair while gazing out the window… even if it’s only two and a bit weeks ’til Christmas.
SO. I GOT OLDER. And jumped out of a plane! And lazed about in the ocean drinking cider and eating cake. (Okay, the cake was not technically eaten IN the ocean, just beside it.) And Pearl Jam BLEW MY MOTHERFREAKING MIND. And it’s basically been the best couple of weeks ever. I would be willing to testify to that in some sort of courtroom, if pressed. On Saturday the gang and I traipsed over the hill to laze about in the sunshine at various vineyards eating steaks and creme brulee and supping delicious wine… and then we went to Greytown and lazed about in the sunshine eating tapas (mmm garlic and cream mushrooms, you complete me) and supping mojitos Then we went to Christmas in the park.
I love it. ALL OF IT. I’ve been feeling very delighted by being 27 thus far: I finally feel like I genuinely don’t care what people think, and I’m totally happy with who I am and where I’m at. But then I overslept this morning and came to work with greasy hair and a wrinkled skirt and my bus broke down (because my car had to be towed due to further malfunction. YES. I KNOW.) and my tuna salad leaked all over my muesli bar and SIGH. WELCOME BACK, REALITY. At least this manifestation is now the exception rather than the norm. PROGRESS!
Ang and I are establishing the rules for the breaking of the universe. BEST EVER