i just finished a particularly bad book called The Hazards of Good Breeding— it was boring and predictable. i hate that. and the timberwolves lost, i really hate that.

my stomach is burning with all the thoughts on my mind. i dread tomorrow. work has turned me into alice in wonderland where nothing is quite as it seems or maybe all is as it seems and i’ve lost the ability to interpret what in the hell is going on around me.

i’ll be 32 in six days. if my life changes as much from 32-33 as it has from 31-32, i’ll be living on the moon pregnant with quintuplets this time next year. perhaps, maybe then i can sleep.