Time Keeps On Slippin…

Oh, wait, and now it’s MAY.


One of these days, these posts won’t be so much of a “catch up” deal. But today is not that day!

I’m moving this weekend. This makes me sad and happy and exhausted and lazy and productive and sad and stressed and happy and stressed and sleepless and stressed. Little did I know that my phone would be blowin’ up with agents who want to show my apartment to prospective renters, but ah. Such is life. I just wish it wasn’t my life, ’cause those fuckers are rude.

“Hi, it’s 4:29 can we show your apartment at 4:30?” Uh. No. You may not.

“We’re actually in the neighborhood, and by neighborhood we mean right outside your door and though we have keys we can’t come in without your permission. We’re actually standing here. In your hallway.” Because THAT’S not creepy.

I’d like to think that the people traipsing through my apartment while I am not home are thinking that some sort of cokehead occupies the space, because there is no rhyme or reason to my life or my organization. JOKE’S ON THEM THOUGH – I’M JUST REALLY MESSY HAHAHA.

(… Which is, of course, something I’d like to get under control… but probably never will. Along with sugar being my favorite food group, and my spending habits, and my lack of discipline, and my lack of… well, everything, really.)

I’ve been noticing lately that I’m sort of frumpy, which is not a word I ever thought would be connected to me. But today, I looked at my reflection in a window and thought, “DEAR GOD WHAT IS THAT THING” and then just went on my merry-ass-way. I think these thoughts are the result of a pair of jeans I got from Kmart, which I bought last minute because I was out of town for the weekend and had no clean clothes. I think they are mom jeans, and though I am not a mom, I bought them anyway. And jeans… jeans are like my clothing staple. And wouldn’t you know, I’ve never bought a pair of jeans that actually fits me. Because I don’t get how clothing works. I think it’s a whole life chapter I just skipped.

If I were to fix this problem, I’d imagine it’s something I’d have to spend money on and… I think that would be a poor spending decision on my part. If I did it on my own, I’d just buy a store out of mom jeans, and if I did it with a professional, they’d just buy a store out of things that I’d wear once until I could go back to Target and buy more mom jeans and a tank top.

Sometimes I just want to go to sleep and wake up an entirely new person. Not in like a Jamie Curtis/Lindsay Lohan swippity swap sort of way. Just like without a ton of shit clouding up my brain. So maybe sort of like Drew Barrymore in “50 First Dates” which doesn’t really work because she had a brain injury. Sooo… maybe not.

This is a lesson in patience and grace, as always. Too bad I’m running thin on both.

On to bigger and better things, and smaller and cheaper apartments. 🙂


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