“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.
It’s not, as you’ve probably guessed, a baby shark.
But leaving Offspring guessing about what I was plotting here while he nobly battles red tape and ignorance in support of… whatever it is we’re doing over there. I’ve honestly forgotten.
I’m home alone, and really dealing with it surprisingly well, all things considered.
I mean, I may have hit the craft store a little hard but in my defense THEY EMAIL ME COUPONS. What am I supposed to do, not take advantage of a super-awesome limited-time sales event?
What with one thing and another, we’ve been making heavy use of professional pet sitters recently (I found a service that lets me book online, without ever speaking to another human, but still sends the same actual human every time to take care of my furry darlings; basically, it’s the antisocial control-freak’s ideal and every business should adopt this model) which exposed a few unkempt corners around the house as well as kicking up a few dustbunnies within my psyche.
I’m so sorry.
Just one this week, and all depressing. Skip it if you like; I won’t judge.
Deserve is the most useless word in our language, and should be removed from the common lexicon.
I’ve been reading and hearing it a lot lately;
But here’s the thing: that word doesn’t matter. Deserving something, believing you deserve it, having hoards of people say you deserve it, doesn’t change shit.
You get what you get.
As my father used to point out to me on a near-daily basis: life isn’t fair.
I just checked my stats this week, and I’ve got some bad news.
Statistically speaking, we are not friends.
I mean, obviously I love you because you take time out of your day to come here and read about me—my favorite topic in the world, thankyouverymuch—but there’s no denying that I don’t know and have never met an estimated 99.993% of you.*