- Dear time off work,
- September 12th, 2011
You've been really god damn swell. Even with all the shit I had to do on Friday and Saturday. That wasn't really swell.
But Sunday and Monday? You are teaching me that I can either choose to be productive and busy OR take a much needed break and relax with my bfff, "The Maury Povich Show." That's what I did, today.
Yesterday, I made some big decisions for myself. I also played a drinking game of "How many times can words 'memory', 'courage', 'love', 'heroes', and '9-11' can occur." Suffice to say, I was WASTED. Scared the crap out of John thoroughly. Drunk Danielle is fun in doses. In larger doses, she may call your brother to tell him you're an asshole (this only happened once, i promise). Today, I tried to put together a bed frame that was too small for the mattress. Bye-bye $300. Fuck. But, I ate cereal, I drank coffee, I took a nap. I loved on the roommate for awhile (the one who lets me sleep in the same bed that is now lying on our floor) I'm bloated too. That's super cute. Attractive.
Oh, and I'm taking up running next week. Once I buy a decent pair of running shoes. I figure, I can walk 6 miles, I can probably run at least a mile. Right?
I'm just not big on my boobs moving. It upsets me.
I kind of like how I'm actually taking time to write here the last few days. It's interesting.
I wish that I knew how to flip the "off" button on the crazy sometimes, though. Because sometimes my brain just starts making noises and I can't seem to just push mute. Whatever. I'm going to go do some laundry, maybe not eat anything else that has salt in it (i craved it all yesterday and this weekend, and now, blam. Gross.) and maybe go wake up John by threatening I'm going to drink my weight in cheap vodka again.