39 is my least favorite age, as it turns out.
Hello.
Hello.
I am a few months away from 40! What? That's lame. Year 39 has been so challenging. I can't say it's been my favorite. In fact, it's been pretty unbearable at times. I guess everything was normal and as usual until we went to Florida for vacation. And then - just some damn fucking disastery emotional stuff went down and I haven't been the same since.
I'm really all PMSy right now and super emotional. I was crying about a commercial in which a dog's owner narrated that he keeps the nasty-ass tennis ball because it makes his dog happy. And I want a dog so much as it is.
Oh, and my PMS is off the charts this year. I'm assuming it's hormonal changes and what not. It's awful. I'm either angry, overly-sensitive or weepy about everything. I mean even DUMB songs on the radio the other day were making me tear up. Embarrassing. I was by myself, but what a weird feeling - to get hot, stinging eyes welling up over a Bruno Mars song?! hah. Yeah. 39, I really hate you the more that I think about it.
I think (!) I should start writing more. It seems better, easier at a hotel. But it's way more expensive. I think that my ultra-angst these days warrants writing and purging. Just like the good old days.
But now I'm going to go to bed. I have to wake up and set up our craft show booth IN THE RAIN (most likely.) Jealous?
Hello.
I am a few months away from 40! What? That's lame. Year 39 has been so challenging. I can't say it's been my favorite. In fact, it's been pretty unbearable at times. I guess everything was normal and as usual until we went to Florida for vacation. And then - just some damn fucking disastery emotional stuff went down and I haven't been the same since.
I'm really all PMSy right now and super emotional. I was crying about a commercial in which a dog's owner narrated that he keeps the nasty-ass tennis ball because it makes his dog happy. And I want a dog so much as it is.
Oh, and my PMS is off the charts this year. I'm assuming it's hormonal changes and what not. It's awful. I'm either angry, overly-sensitive or weepy about everything. I mean even DUMB songs on the radio the other day were making me tear up. Embarrassing. I was by myself, but what a weird feeling - to get hot, stinging eyes welling up over a Bruno Mars song?! hah. Yeah. 39, I really hate you the more that I think about it.
I think (!) I should start writing more. It seems better, easier at a hotel. But it's way more expensive. I think that my ultra-angst these days warrants writing and purging. Just like the good old days.
But now I'm going to go to bed. I have to wake up and set up our craft show booth IN THE RAIN (most likely.) Jealous?