(no subject)
It's amazing how when you say you can't handle more than 24 hours you end up with 38 because "no one else works as hard as you that can work during the week." Needless to say, I'm behind on school work.
I called mom the other day and told her I wanted to move back home. So, eventually, maybe, possibly she'll get that back room cleaned out so I can move in. I just can't keep bleeding more than I bring in every month. This, of course, upsets Wes, but I'm not going to get into that row with him. I was already on the point of explosion with him before Pops died, and now I won't say anything because I know he's grieving. But, I've been a major bitch to everyone for it.
So, to try to overcome being a bitch, I said hello to my treadmill again. I'm finally getting to the point I can breathe again; as long as I keep a box of Kleenex near by, I can make it through a work out. I don't know what this crap is, but I'm ready to shake off this last little edge. But anyways. Normally a stint on the treadmill makes me a little bit perkier. It did--until I got off and hurt just as bad as I had before I got on. Lately it's felt like someone's taken the broad side of a hammer and just beaten the dog shit out of my back, legs and arms, no matter if I've done anything or not. So, I was also trying to loosen up a bit. So, I was sore, and Wes walked back in from fiddle farting around with Derek making shit to sell since they don't have work--again.
I'd gotten a major jealous bug late last year over some stupid stuff on his part, which had carried into this year. I finally shook it off and have just said "Fuck it." I'm not going to sabotoge myself for him being a dumbass.
So, I guess, in short, I've found my little light at the end of the tunnel. It may just be the glow of the wick leading to an explosive charge, but we'll see.
God grant me the strength to change the things I am able, the serenity to accept the things I can not, and the wisdom to know the difference.