2minutes

The baby is dead, to begin with. She would have been one last week. Then there is also the issue of divorce. And of terminal illness, and a bad job. The issues of losing my homes, and moving in and out. Of Missie coming, and Danielle being in the hospital for five nights in a row. Of hating my roommate, and him hating me. Of never hearing from Pam and forever hearing from Levitz furniture about paying off my couches at 24% interest. Of an $11,000 hospital bill and my GBF moving ten blocks away. Of Jessica's new tattoos and never writing my book. There is being more in love than I know how to handle. And hearing, before I even open my eyes in the morning, that he is madly in love with me, too. There is wanting to go home, and knowing that home isn't there anymore. There is a $200 dinner @ Per Se that I cannot afford. It's wine week in New York. I miss my old job. I miss my college. My friend's dad was murdered and I didn't even know. I don't eat enough fiber and I pay way too much for the gym. My bed is too hard and my right pointer finger hurts. I love NY. In the touristy-t-shirt way. I want to buy a French Bulldog and name him Sir Turk Pipkin. I want to sleep all day.

I'm tired and I'm going to sleep in my von-dutch hoodie and my boyfriend's mesh basketball shorts and I will wake up to "Fighter" at 7:10am. And that, is me, right now.