I’m not mentally prepared for vacation. OK, that didn’t work.
I’m pretty tired and I want to make sure I get a good night’s rest on my first night of vacation. Nope, still not good.
I’m a creature of habit and I enjoy being alone… WTF? no.
I’m feeling pretty fucking lame and so incredibly lazy, I wonder if I’ll have the energy to walk to the bathroom when the need arises. Well aware there is no excuse for my behavior, but I’ll continue to engage in it for the duration of the night. That’s better.
It is true that I chose to smoke some weed and watch Anchorman at 11 last night when I should’ve been packing and tidying up my apartment. It is not at all false that I had only three hours of sleep before hurrying to catch a taxi and make it just in time for my flight. It would be accurate to state that my friends and I have been talking about and looking forward to this break for AT LEAST the last eight weeks. And yet… it is my first night in Miami and I’m in the condo by myself in “lounge boxers” and tank top, eating a sandwich and drinking a beer. Just as I would’ve if I were home – really, the only thing missing is Tori at my foot. I thought of watching a little TV since I don’t have cable at home, but had to shut that off too.
So I took the day off to travel to Miami and do the exact same thing as I do when home. And yes, alone. Because everyone else is using common sense and is out and about, soaking up the carefreeness in the air.
There is no particular reason; I’m not sad, I’m not depressed, I’m not PMSing. I’m pretty freaking content, actually. We’ll just call it a glitch - a Butt Baby malfunction that will surely be adjusted by sunrise.
From tomorrow on, I promise to be just as absurd, inappropriate, kittenish, and friendly as I’m supposed to be. Because it’s who I am, really – a miracle baby, born from the butt to bring joy and nonsense to all those she befriends (and hell to those she doesn’t… but that’s *so* rare). Just not tonight, I guess. Tonight I’m lame (and loving it).