Fuck this week. I want it gone.
Oh. Hey. It's the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. That's why I'm up at 5am, crying before I know why.
I know other people count these things differently, but that's the one that stabs me in the eye whether I'm not looking for it or not. (Clear Tuesdays in September, too; I can't bear to look at the sky.)
Giving yourself a tearful pep-talk about pulling shit together and making it through the day doesn't seem *really* pathetic until the muttering homeless dude on the corner tells you you're gonna be okay.
Seriously though, this week, this last weekend, this whole blot on the calendar can fuck right off. I don't really have anything against thanksgiving, but the week before is pretty much dead to me.
I know other people count these things differently, but that's the one that stabs me in the eye whether I'm not looking for it or not. (Clear Tuesdays in September, too; I can't bear to look at the sky.)
Giving yourself a tearful pep-talk about pulling shit together and making it through the day doesn't seem *really* pathetic until the muttering homeless dude on the corner tells you you're gonna be okay.
Seriously though, this week, this last weekend, this whole blot on the calendar can fuck right off. I don't really have anything against thanksgiving, but the week before is pretty much dead to me.