I feel like I m being strangled. With a very itchy wool scarf. And I can't say the words. I live with "Oh look-a chicken!" Whenever the word we comes into play you can damn well bet I am not a part of the we. It will never be a home even if I could carry the pre-historic sofa bed to the curb. And the heavy gorgeous hope chest, throw it on my back and skip up the stairs? But first I'd have to move the huge desk into the office/computer room. If I had a sex change operation would I then be able to do these things?
Yes, I realize my part in this. I know it is foolish to think I will ever be able to decorate and though I have thought of just throwing most of it away what if Aaron does't pay my house off and pay me back the $25,000.00 like he is supposed to- the apple doesn't fall far from the tree you know-and I will need to sell my stuff to buy my meds or food or whichever I should happen to need most in any given week.
I only hope I die first.
Other than that -I'm fine. Licking the remains of a caramel Milky Way from my lips. Yeah, I know someone else should be doing that but.....I don't have a cat anymore. That's a sick story in itself, isn't it Hunter????