More pubescent flashbacks are the last thing I need right now--I have way bigger fish to fry (see yesterday's post). And holy giant pimple, I'm 39--not twelve. Why couldn't this mound with a pulse have taken up residence on the facial real estate of some teenager?
Hopefully all of the past two days' secret-spilling; facing buried, dark stuff; sleeplessness; and fighting off evil little fockers will, in the end, land me in a freer, stronger, more brilliant place. But for now, this evil pimple is the rotten icing on my poop cake.
Tomorrow begins the weekend...I hope yours is smooth and clear.
|Image via Observando|