I feel off in a lot of ways lately, but I've almost found comfort in not knowing what the hell I'm doing.
This doesn't make me want to stab people less when they ask me if I've heard back from any jobs or if I've found a place to live. If you knew me at all, you'd know that if any of those things had happened it would be very obvious. If not by my happy dances or ecstatic shrieking, then by my social media/blog from which I hide nothing (when it comes to exciting life changes anyway).
My roommate moved the majority of her stuff (which is everything because I contributed nothing--roommate of the year award goes to me!) out last weekend so I've been eating everything off of paper towels and mason jars.
She may have taken the plates, but she left me a wine opener so I guess she's learned a thing or two about me in the past 12 months.
Speaking of, I can justify spending $5 on a piece of toast at a trendy cafe, but I just can't bring myself to spend more than $6 on a bottle of wine. Or fork out the dough to buy one place setting for that matter.
Since I started PMSing a week early, this makes week two of telling myself it's acceptable to eat Skittles for lunch.
I accidentally left dim sum in the back of my car Sunday and let it bake in 80 degree heat until yesterday when I realized the stench was not coming from the usual suspects.
Between scrambling to find a working printer, not being able to find parking before jumping on the train, discovering disgusting leftover dim sum and shamelessly changing into proper attire in my car, I arrived at my interview with about 5 minutes to spare and forgot to change into inconspicuous undergarments. If I don't get the job, I'm fully blaming the awkward butt patterns showing through my dress.
After getting into a car accident by letting a stranger drive me approximately half a mile the other day, you'd think I would've learned my lesson about stranger danger but it seems as though I'm going camping with a bunch of them this weekend. Don't worry, I'll leave strands of hair and spit along the way so they can trace my DNA later.
What are your confessions? Go link up with Kathy.