and by that I mean, I make poor people choices. Like taco bell, staying in and cheap beer. hellooo friday night.
seriously though, I make poor choices. I’m not sure why I bother sometimes.
I really hate moving. I hate that every summer, LITERALLY EVERY SUMMER, I move. it’s always hot. it’s always miserable and I always wish that my life was some form of consistent, or at least a years worth of consistent, and I wouldn’t have to undergo the fiasco that is moving all of my shit less than 30 minutes away from where it currently resides. I could just spend my entire summer inside, on the couch eating poor people popsicles (which aren’t even called popsicles, but instead freezepops or popice or some other bullshit), with all of my belongings securely cluttered around the same crap-hole as the summer before. What a glorious hassle-free summer that would be.
However, this is not the case. I am not spending my summer lounging. Nope. I am out sweltering in the hot sun moving bullshit into other bullshit. bullshit.
I wish I had fabulous things to report to you. Tales of new “real” jobs in which the employers provided their staff with wages that actually paid the bills, retirement plans, and even health insurance. Tales of fabulous riches that I just happened upon, or acquired illegally in some badass heisty sort of way. Or even some crazy shit like dragon slaying (I’ve been reading/watching a lot of Game of Thrones lately) yeah that’s right dragon slaying. Unfortunately, none of these fabulous things are the case.
Instead I will say that my life is really hot. Hott and steamy that is-and by that I mean the AC is broken. And by that I mean, my car AC, the pea’s AC, and the earth’s AC. BROKEN. If you haven’t noticed it’s fucking hot outside. more bullshit.