“So what,” you ask, fundamentally fed up with all this stalling, “do you need such a whacking great tank for?”
To fulfill a promise made to itty bitty me.
Basically, it’s very expensive therapy.
Friends, I need your help.
It’s too late for a cover-up—at this point the best we can hope for is to be really proactive about our excuses, explanations, and justifications.
Let me back up.
Hauntings season is (basically) over, which means Husband and I are spending quality time having weird-ass conversations for your benefit.
I mean, we’d have them whether I had a blog or not, obviously… but you do benefit from reading about them so here’s a thing that happened yesterday—enjoy!
This week contains my last few “normal” days before I begin terrorizing the citizens of St. Louis every single night, which means I’m spending whatever little bits of time I can with Husband—cuddling, sitting with him while he finally watches Mindhunter, and taking care of some projects we foolishly put off until the least convenient season.
Yes, I really want to tell you about one of them, but I can’t. It’s too big (and not at a shareable stage yet). We’ll get there, I promise.
But my altered schedule makes my nightly call with Offspring easier; most nights I just call him when I’m on my way home to wash the blood out of my hair.
It is very frustrating for me, as you know, to have… things… going on here—important things—of which I cannot keep you informed.
But every time I reach for my phone or laptop in a blind rage about The Thing I’m just about tackled by Husband and a full legal team.
While my weird hours leave me almost no time for Husband, they do make it much more convenient for me to chat with Offspring; I’m not staying up for him anymore, if anything he’s staying up for me.
And I’m sure you won’t be surprised which one is currently experiencing overwhelming job dissatisfaction.