I don't care what the bourgeoisie say
What is pleasing me, possibly most of all, about my upcoming trip is that in certain circles, it's a swear word.
BELGIUM!
I leave Saturday morning. I need to finish packing tonight. It's a good thing I'm taking a vacation, as I have felt the distinct urge--nay, need--to run like fuck away since I forced myself to finish the drive to work a week ago Friday morning. I shall probably come back to work to find everything EXPLODED, since it has been far, far too quiet the past couple weeks--everyone's trying to schedule meetings with me tomorrow in prep for both my and my supervisors' buggering off in the next few weeks--but I don't care because I am going to Europe this weekend and ain't nobody gonna fucking stop me.
(That includes you, Mother Nature. I'M WATCHING YOU.)
BELGIUM!
I leave Saturday morning. I need to finish packing tonight. It's a good thing I'm taking a vacation, as I have felt the distinct urge--nay, need--to run like fuck away since I forced myself to finish the drive to work a week ago Friday morning. I shall probably come back to work to find everything EXPLODED, since it has been far, far too quiet the past couple weeks--everyone's trying to schedule meetings with me tomorrow in prep for both my and my supervisors' buggering off in the next few weeks--but I don't care because I am going to Europe this weekend and ain't nobody gonna fucking stop me.
(That includes you, Mother Nature. I'M WATCHING YOU.)