Notes on a weekend
Let me be brief in this startling look into my weekend. Despite the popular believe that I live lavishly and fantastically, thus the copious amounts of wine and overpriced apples. The sad truth is that I’m woefully boring and I spend a lot of time doing stupid shit. And though I’ve asked this once before, why would anyone care how I spent the last 48 hours? But then I could also question why anyone would care to read me on a daily basis, which then delves into why people blog etc, and my God, with the amount of Amstel consumed, now is not the time to get into deep psychological discussion of why others are attracted to a stranger’s trainwrecky life. Besides, it would involve a lot of words and as we all know, I do not do well with words.
There is nothing exciting or enthralling about dropping a bottle of rum on one’s foot. Really. Nothing. Save for the large bruise left on said foot and the accompanying awkward gait. Sadly, had I already consumed the alcohol I would not have felt it and yet at 4 PM, I was uncharacteristically sober and my I was most certain that my foot was broken because large bottles of alcohol can cause serious injury.
To say that I’m merely looking forward to the next two weekends would be an understatement. Let’s just say I’ve turned a new leaf from complete dire straits and wondering when exactly a lightening bolt would strike me down and (thankfully) kill me to cautiously optimistic. And that’s all that will be said on that.
The hits, they just keep on coming. Next up: I will discuss, in detail, my nail growth, because nothing can get as exciting as the state of one’s cuticles. Nothing.