I have the lamest lunch today. PB&J, some cheese and bread and a nectarine. Oh and a banana for later and a snack pack popcorn on reserve if I’m starving.
I don’t know what I was thinking this morning. I almost took a sip of super cold coffee.
Who makes PB&J past the age of 12? Pat. And apparently me. And maybe my uncle steve. But he also wears velcro shoes – or used to. Hi Steve.
I think my relatives are the only people who read my blog. HI RELATIVES!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JULIE! They like to keep an eye on me, but only one and from a distance because I’m sure they want me to feel  independent and all adult and stuff.
Well, I’m still eating PB&Js and every time I make them I still sing the “PEANUT, PEANUT BUTTER *jazz hands* AND JELLY” song in my head.

I’ve been internet-stalking old friends from HS today. I’m not sure why. I think an old best friend is married. I saw one picture, her hair covering her face and she was dancing, I think it was her, the smile was the same. She looked beautiful and happy and I hope she is.
It was strange looking for and at all those old people. I thought I’d be farther along at 27 than I am. I know, I know – I’m where I’m supposed to be. The lesson for today: how to be OK with your plain life. Not everyone is living a bohemian life like you think their pictures say. They still have electric bills – unless they don’t use electricity… They still have phone bills – unless they don’t use phones… They still have gasoline expenses – unless they ride their bikes. Shit. Water bills? One girl I saw had chickens. Water bills for sure with chickens.
Today, I’m bouncing the ball at the wall – playing with myself (not like that – although maybe later – j/k sorry relatives.) and I really do feel quiet inside like I’m in a high-ceilinged room, the echos tap dancing and playing basketball.  I used to juggle a soccer ball 100 times or more without it dropping.

Lindsey emailed me today and reminded me of a time when she worked here and we had a designers meeting and I can’t remember what she was trying to say, but what she said instead was “cunt” in front of this really stuffy, brown imitation keds wearing, brown short, brown shirt, brown hair-wearing, buttoned-up M.O.M and I was sitting across from Lindsey trying my damnedest to play it off like she didn’t say it at all, but I couldn’t. HOW COULD I?! God, laughing when you’re not supposed to laugh is quite possibly the best feeling in the world – unless you’re at a funeral. But damn, it’s hard to stop.

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