Oh fuck. What day is it? It's not day seventeen at all. I missed a day!
Yesterday was LAME. OK, not in every possible way, but fairly lame anyway. I was riding out my malaise, and breakfasted upon half a cheeseburger in the morning, then went to a friend's house to help her and her boyfriend paint just the south side in order to qualify for the FHA loan they're trying to get. It went beautifully, actually, in the way manual labor with a clear visible reward is beautiful, and I had a few beers, forgetting all about the other half of my cheeseburger until quite a bit later. I was also going through (possibly irrational?) anxieties about not at all receiving any phone call from a particular gentleman - being ill/tired/stressed makes me feel very vulnerable. I went home, ate cheeseburger soup, continued to not receive any phone calls, and then tried to sleep. I couldn't sleep. I drank some wine.
No sleeping.
More wine. A Benadryl.
No sleeping. A spate of crying.
Then there was sending heartbroken text messages to my friend in Arizona, who was, of course, asleep.
Some days, I feel like such a girl.
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