Whenever I move out of a place, the first thing I do is take all my pictures down. It's like my little way of breaking it to myself gently that this is no longer my home.
Yesterday I found out that we are moving sooner than I'd originally thought, which means that the first thing I did today was take all the pictures down and then stare at the walls. It instantly feels like someone else's house.
I wonder why that is. The rest of my shit is still in place, but the walls are bare...
Dani doesn't live here anymore.
Even the dogs feel it.
Maisy is clinging to me like a baby monkey (which means I've stepped on her/tripped over her at least 15 times) and Javi is hiding under the couch.
And I'm crying like a little bitch because I really, really hate moving. Hate. Hate so damn much. And for a while, my life is going to totally suck. This I know with absolute certainty.
There's no funny today and may not be for a while... currently my life is seemingly spiraling out of control and there doesn't seem to be much I can do to stop it. My personal crisis is painful and there just doesn't seem to be any way that I can put a positive spin on it right this second, so until I am done throwing myself a pity party, there will be no bloggety-blogging, as I hate writing down depressing stuff just as much as most people dislike reading it.
Plus I hate it when I'm a whine-ass.
|Dammit... I KNEW I shouldn't have wished for Death By Meteor!!|
Peace out, home skillets... I'll be back.
Maybe with happy pills... yes?
Every fucking cloud, yo.