STAB STAB STAB
I hate asking my parents for money. I hate asking my parents for money because I’m about to ask them for a lot and I know they don’t have a lot to give. It makes me angry at myself for making stupid decisions 5 years ago.
I also hate my itching left eye, which is swollen and bloodshot and itchy, in case I hadn’t mentioned it already. Combined with the closed-off throat, the coughing, and the irritating giant itch that is my mouth (inside and out), and you have ME. ME, WHO IS ONE HAPPY CAMPER LET ME TELL YOU RIGHT NOW OMG.
Yesterday I found out something that is like, so probably not true but you know how it is when you find out something that could alter the course of your life. It kind of just festers and grows until you find out for SURE that it’s not true and all that festering and growing makes you into a miserly old hag that no one likes.
I am in such a bad mood that I think I’m going to limit my web interactions today because I seriously almost let loose on someone for being knee-jerk-y, which I can’t fault anyone because hi. Have we met? I am the queen of knee-jerk reactions. But this one snorked me because I am in a bad mood. So sorry if any of you came over here to give me the what-for for being kind of a bitch in my comment. I apologize. I swear I’m not usually this cold and prickly. Okay. I changed my mind. I just flat-out disagree with some people I really respect and admire and I told them about it and now I’m scared that the internets is going to eat me.
Today, I am like a prickly pear. AJ, wasn’t that the name of the “bar” at that hotel we stayed at in San Antonio? Remember when we went down to the front desk and got the little trial cans of shaving cream? And remember how we filled up balloons with shaving cream and put them in those people’s beds? And remember how we “got in trouble” until those people went back in their room and then we got high-fived by Mrs. R? That was so awesome. And I apologize to Alicia if she got shaving cream on anything. (That trip occured just before I partially removed my head from my ass and became friends with Alicia, just so y’all know.)
Argh. ARGH. I am hungry and exhausted and itchy and sad and worried and overwhelmed and want to be five again, so that I don’t have to make decisions or worry about anything except how I’m going to drag my spring horse out into the living room all by myself in time for the Roy Rogers-Gene Autry hour*.
*This is actually what I did when I was five. I would put on my boots, regardless of the rest of my outfit, grab my little cowboy hat and cap gun, and ride my spring horse for an hour. I was the most awesome kid ever, clearly.