I want you dead.

Whenever I find happiness, some sort of destructive act of God occures to steady the score. My birthday weekend was amazing. Twenty-seven hours of nonstop fun and what happens at 4:00 a.m. the next morning? My entire ceiling crashes down in my room. I meet a wonderful guy and what happens? He gets sick as a dog. I find myself a new little friend and what happens? We get in a fight (I’ll try to “get over myself” and stop being a bitch).

What the hell, life?!

I’d like to take this time as an opportunity to say, “Fuck You.” We’ve had our ups and downs, but look, dude. Why can’t we just be friends? I’ll bake you a cake or dance for you, anything, just stop with the shenanigans.

So. I’m going to try and have a nice week. Give playing nice a try, I heard you make more friends that way. I wouldn’t know, because I’m officially the ass end of derision from your frolic and glee. Truce.


About misschrislee

Laughter really is the best medicine.
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