I'm so scheduling one this week.
It was 55 degrees in my apartment when I got up this morning. When I came home from yoga it was 54. While I was struggling to get my yoga mat, gym bag, purse, coffee, Target bag and Lunds purchases into the house, I was nearly dive-bombed by one of the robins that is apparently trying to build a nest on top of the light next to my door. And now I'm finally sitting down to work.
Christ. I'm so fucking crabby and stressed that my shoulders are up around my ears and I'm walking around with a permascowl on my face. Yoga didn't even do jack shit for me this morning. I'm so getting drunk tonight. Not drunk enough to get talked into going dancing, which is what Blondie wants to do for her birthday. It's not that I don't like to occasionally shake my ass, or anything. It's more that whatever venue they end up going to Downtown will inevitably be full of people that will make me homicidal, and fuck, I think I'm stressed enough.
When my life finally gets back on the right track, it's going to seem so fucking awesome after this shit.