What are you doing up?
Can't sleep, mon. And instead of just popping an ativan, like a normal person with access to sedating drugs would, I'm sitting at my computer, reading shit I wrote four years ago. There's a good, or at least "a", reason for this.
Stage one of this weekend's home improvement project involved emptying two bookcases in order to move them into the other room temporarily, and that meant going through things that were on them, not all of which were by any stretch of the imagination actual, y'know, books. I believe I threw away what were the last of my son's high school report cards that were still in this house. (Why anyone would have kept them is a mystery in the first place. I think we have established before that they were not the kind of thing one frames.) But, anyway, that was the first descent into emo this afternoon, and it just snowballed from there.
The thing about washing walls and vacuuming and applying blue tape to the woodwork is that these things can be done without much thought, leaving the mind to wander. And you know how dangerous that is for your malevolent correspondent. Hours of reflection on all the stupid choices one has made and all the ways one has failed is not conducive to restful slumber once one's head hits the pillow. Just sayin'.
Oh, Andrea, just go take some freakin' prescription drugs. I will, I will. But first...
Okay! Now I'm cheered up! Music, it's the cure for everything!
Painting commences tomorrow, bitches. Be afraid. I'm doing some very tall walls. The chances this'll end well aren't high.
xoxo
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