(no subject)
I hate that Monday morning, when I am settling in with my coffee and finding red pen, black pen, and pencil, I have to tell what I did over the weekend. Well, turns out, I don't want to tell most of those people that I laid in bed, watched three movies, one of them made me cry, listened to Glee covers, took a bath, drank tea, hid out, wore nothing but underwear and a t-shirt, colored with Crayons, got jealous, saw a picture of a baby and wanted one, folded some of Josh's laundry and stole a shirt because it still smelled like him, made food, painted my nails, wished for snow, resented people then felt a little bad about it, and prayed half a rosary. So, most times, I shrug and tell them that I didn't do much.
Also, I'm so glad that my immune system is pretty badass, because I couldn't handle getting sick more than I do. Once my voice hits a certain note, it's just air wheezing out of my throat, or a squeak at best.
Also, I'm so glad that my immune system is pretty badass, because I couldn't handle getting sick more than I do. Once my voice hits a certain note, it's just air wheezing out of my throat, or a squeak at best.