Blackout

I can't believe how I just forgot things on Sunday. I forgot that I started crying on the 21 on the way home from downtown, wearing my super boots and feeling sorry for myself. I forgot that I called the Fridge and he was drunk and stupid, my least favorite combo. I forgot that I sat on the cushion-less couch in the cold, pawing at Mister until cold was too cold. Later, I forgot that I had been face-attacked (molested doesn't sound right).

French Toast

It feels nice to have a set date.

Emipre Diner.
Sunday mornings.
Frandy (aka Fran and Sandy).

We want Nikki and Anthony to come too and share with us:

THE
BEST
FRENCH
TOAST
EVER.

Running Low

I want to stay home and watch tv.
Lidia is making a balsamic glazed turkey.
I don't want to go out drinking, I don't want to do much.
I said already, "I can't believe this is happening again."
I didn't mean to step into the same shoes.
My abs said no yesterday.

Someone wrote to me the other day that I am "NOT A SOCIAL WORKER."
To which I replied, "I am not a social worker, you are right about that."
Thinking about it now, of course I actually am. I had such a hard time deciding between education and social work because they are so intertwined. The role I choose is both.

Currently listening to:
Polyphonic Spree Lithium
Flaming Lips Waiting for a Superman