Trent is sick and I'm in a talky mood.
Let me say that again with more emphases on the important-er parts of the sentence...
TRENT IS SICK and I'M IN A TALKY MOOD.
Another note-worthy point of interest is that no one is really online to talk to, either. I have absolutely NO outlet for the shit-factory insanity that is happening in my brain when I get like this. I mean, to be fair, if you sit around and read Hyperbole and a Half all day (and I did because it is freaking AWESOME) you will feel strangely chatty, too. Go read some. I'll wait.
It's awesome, isn't it?!?
I am filthy. I have not showered today... and in fact, I am still wearing yesterday's clothes, sans underwear, even with the gaping hole in the crotch of my pants. I feel like disgusting should be my new middle name. But I was also pretty productive today.
The fire pit area out in the woods/ yard has desperately needed cleaned up for a long-ish time now, and since my perfectly wonderful but terribly slovenly boys silently refuse to do an ounce of work to clean up their own messes, I took it upon myself to go out there and slave away like a dirty little hobo for HOURS and clean it all up. I brought in all the chairs and threw away all the trash and half the tents. I disassembled the other half of the tents and strung them (it, really) up in a tree to dry. This is in addition to the 2 sleeping mats that were sitting in no less than 4 gallons of water in the busted tent. This tent had collected so much water and dead bug carcasses and leaves and general filth that it actually was sprouting mushrooms. Likely deadly ones, considering what they were growing on, but then again, the GOOD ones grow in poop, so maybe I'm wrong. Either way, it was a damn good sized mushroom, which I set aside, gingerly, on the bar so as to take a picture of it for proof of the filth-mongering that that particular tent was up to, and then I promptly forgot about it. Oops.
I was creeped and crawled on by a pretty large spectrum of insects and arachnids out there, each one eliciting a squeak or squeal from my diligently toiling self. Even an hour after coming back inside, I still felt like I had things crawling all over me. And I'm pretty sure that at some point, a spider (it may have been a regular bug, but my brain instantly thinks spider) bit me right on the butthole. Probably not a lot of people out there know what that feels like. But I assure you, it feels exactly like it sounds. It feels like a bug of some sort BITING you... ON. THE. BUTTHOLE.
That'll teach me to play out in the yard without my protective layer of underwear on, won't it?
I'm still anxiously awaiting my trip back to Texas to live happily ever after with my John. I still have a long wait ahead of me, too, and it is going to SUUUUCK. It's been like, 3 weeks since I left, and every damn day is a struggle in my head to not be a psycho. I miss my boyfriend, and that makes me a little unstable.....er. Add to that my stressful job, my meager finances, and the fact that he and I don't really even get to talk much due to conflicting schedules and the lack of a fully functional phone on both ends, and you have the perfect recipe for a not-too-happy-about-life me. I know that it'll get better. And I know that I'm still going to have some good times with my wonderful (and messy) friends while I'm here. But there's something about missing the person you are absolutely head over heels for that will just drive a person NUTS!
All that being said (really fast, all told), I've been having to put forth effort to not be insane AT him when we DO talk. Now, you might not know this about your friend and humble narrator, but I can be an insecure clingy needy crazy lunatic person when my brain kicks up shit like it does sometimes. So, yeah, we talk a little less right now, and he seems a little distant and my logic says to me, hey! He's at work! Cut the guy some slack, ok?! And my uterus (that's where I keep all my crazy) pipes up and says, well, he can't be THAT busy... and he always had time to talk to you before... and on and on and on.... and eventually DOUBT starts to peek around the corner to see what I'm up to. Its one of the worst things about me. I KNOW better, but try telling ME that!
Anyway, everything is fine, and I told him that I'm insane and he reassured me, lovingly, that he's not forgotten me and that he's not changed his mind about whisking me off to the middle of the desert and making me the happiest misplaced Yankee ever to breathe air. He didn't say it EXACTLY like that, but I'm a notorious paraphraser. As I said, I do try very very hard at not being that particular type of bat-shit off-my-rocker crazy..... And a lot of the time, I succeed. But my crazy is a strong crazy and cannot be ignored indefinitely.
Additionally, part of the reason I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes is that my new tank top makes me boobs look fucking AWESOME.
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