“Said little Peggy Ann McKay…” Or so the line goes from the Shel Silverstein poem “Sick.”
Just holding on these days. Some kind of funk cloud in my brain keeping me from busting through to the light, and it’s getting annoying. I leave for a girl’s trip the day after tomorrow and I should be excited about it, but this wall is in front of me laughing and saying “HA HA!! I KNOW IT’S ONLY TWO DAYS AWAY, BUT I AM GOING TO ROYALLY F*CK YOU UP IN THE MEAN TIME TRYING TO GET OVER ME TO IT!!!”
And I’m here with my playbook, looking for ways around or through it, and it’s just… It’s impenetrable. I don’t like this game.
If anybody needs me I’ll just be in my bed counting the millions of seconds until Wednesday.
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