1988 Strikes With Ferocity. That's Just Its Way.

You know those days where you just hate stuff? It feels like when you were fifteen and your parents had the goddamned gall to ask you at breakfast how you'd slept, and you wanted to paint the room with their blood, but you didn't, so you just seethed over your Honey Nut Cheerios and said "FINE" like everything was so not fine and WHY DOES THE WORLD HAVE TO INTERACT WITH ME OH MY GOD?

me

That's how I felt all day today.

Also, I got this giant pimple on my right cheek that is actually altering the shape of my jawline. It's gotten all 1988 up in here.

I know. I'll come up with some stuff that didn't completely grate on me today. Gratitude is where it's at.
  1. The fork, knife, and spoon, each dropped at separate times today, did not injure anyone, even though one cat and one human foot did manage to get thwacked pretty hard.
  2. I had a lovely, bright red set of new laces to replace the pair whose ends were found to be stiff with dried cat urine. Thanks be to Onion, bearer of the Great Bladder of Judgement.
  3. The weirdo on the street who spit at me this afternoon? He missed.
I'm beginning to feel those warm fuzzies all deep in my bones now. Oh, yes.

Wait. Drop the sarcasm. This was actually pretty good therapy.

Thanks, guys. Now I can maybe sleep without murder dreams.

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PS. Did anyone else try the toothpaste on the zit thing that was in teen mags in the 80s? Does that work? I've got a zit and a toothpaste daub that just might have been made for each other.

I am taking part in NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month, which has me posting a blog entry every day throughout the month of November.