Any Other Monday
So today was Monday.
I worked matinee (which is rare and never happens on a Monday). I liked it. I worked with Amanda Mac and Cheese, Luke, Brandon, Grace, and Stan sort of.
I talked to my mom for a while after work. That was good.
I have to make a big entry about my trip back West. I will save that for another time. Right now is bittersweet. BRANDON MOVED OUT! Which is GREAT! It is AWESOME! It is NIRVANA! I really, really don't like that man. I am so happy . . . Chris moved out. Which sucks. It's awful. I feel like the whole year we lived together wasn't as cool as it could have been and it won't have any chance of getting better. I mostly blame Brandon's Brooding Dark Cloud. But he's gone now.
My apartment reeks. The place is fucking nasty. I about puked when I walked in the door.
The good news is that . . . no matter HOW long I live here, this place will be clean now. And uh, it'll stay clean. Which is fucking fantastic.
Also good. Loud music. Preferably Paul Oakenfold, or Moby blazing "That's When I Reach For My Revolver." Ah if only love was in the air. But perchance to dream . . .
I worked matinee (which is rare and never happens on a Monday). I liked it. I worked with Amanda Mac and Cheese, Luke, Brandon, Grace, and Stan sort of.
I talked to my mom for a while after work. That was good.
I have to make a big entry about my trip back West. I will save that for another time. Right now is bittersweet. BRANDON MOVED OUT! Which is GREAT! It is AWESOME! It is NIRVANA! I really, really don't like that man. I am so happy . . . Chris moved out. Which sucks. It's awful. I feel like the whole year we lived together wasn't as cool as it could have been and it won't have any chance of getting better. I mostly blame Brandon's Brooding Dark Cloud. But he's gone now.
My apartment reeks. The place is fucking nasty. I about puked when I walked in the door.
The good news is that . . . no matter HOW long I live here, this place will be clean now. And uh, it'll stay clean. Which is fucking fantastic.
Also good. Loud music. Preferably Paul Oakenfold, or Moby blazing "That's When I Reach For My Revolver." Ah if only love was in the air. But perchance to dream . . .