I'm not the kid I used to be.
I got a kid. I'm 33, baby!
Credit The Pretenders for tag above. No, I have not withheld info or love children. Basically, I'm whooped. There's this Christmas thing that has shimmied up my leg and I'm just less than on it -- again. Nonetheless, for the first time ever a tree of pine stands in my apartment. This party is the reason for the fatigue. It also explains the tree. It also explains why I am absolutely and totally broke -- perhaps for the next three months.
A girl drops her head in shame. This is not the way to enter a new year. Am I showing a greater sense of financial management? Am I demonstrating a keener understanding of investing for my future? Do I have a pot to piss in?
Dang.
But yes, I did say party. A self-pitying author is having a get-together this very Saturday night to toast the blessings of the past year and welcome those yet to come. She celebrates her arrival to this very apartment that was an emergency escape pad a year ago. It's also a holiday party -- c'mon, it can't be avoided.
Parties are nice to attend. While I've done events for years, throwing a party in my home is a different kettle of fish. Stressful to say the least. No words other than stress. The positive side is that the apartment is looking better the closer we get to "the day."
fatigue -- time to crash.
