Ass to Couch

Whew, this old body of mine is sore.  Between the sneezing and rollerskating and maneuvering between black-clad hipsters at a bar's birthday party, my bones are feeling their age.  I'm exhausted and am finally ass-to-the-couch for the rest of the night.  Which may be like two hours considering I only got 3.5 hours of sleep last night.  I'm redefining sexy in my Hawaiian muumuu and snot-swollen face.  You know you can't resist me. 

Also, sexy?  Crying at the Jackalope while sitting on Nauticalina's lap as some wanna-be Pogues band played cover songs.  I made it almost 48 hours without tears.  I take that as progress.  I cried a bit this morning, and I had The Boy's arms comforting me, and that was really the best.  I needed that (and Nauticalina did a great job rubbing my back and making me feel normal in a fucked-up situation last night).  While the crying seems to be tapering off, my dreams are still so startling real that they stay with me all day--generally in a grip of deep grief and despair.  Thanks brain!

Last night I did get the pleasure of meeting Nauticalina's bestie, Dicktition.  That girl knows how to smuggle plastic bottles of liquor in her bra like no one else I have ever known.  She also wins the title for worse divorce story ever, but it isn't my story to share, so just know it is bad.  Very very bad. 

At some point I need to share a really gross story that isn't mine, but one I got permission to blab all over the internet.  However, I'm too tired to get in to it right now.  Just know that it involves pus and self-surgery.  Two of my favorite things!

This post is quite disjointed and I apologize.  Blame the Allegra and Zyrtec and the lack of sleep and the motherfucking hematoma I gave myself crashing in to a wall while rollerskating today.  Thus, it will probably be easier to sum up my last week in pictures.

P2

 

 

Grackles against a winter sky.

Buy this for me.

Through the car windshield; 28 degrees; Austin, TX.

 

 

Fish Cream in its new home.

Rollerskating