I realize it's Monday, yes. I was up so early today (long story) that I walked right past the keypad without turning off the alarm and opened the back door and treated the whole point to a blaring siren at 4:45 a.m. I think the dog would have peed on the floor right there without going outside but he saw the look on my face and chose wisely. Then I started coffee and tried to pinch myself to make something hurt below the neck because my voice wasn't working, I couldn't breathe and then I realized that there are only eighteen hours to go and I can go back to bed and try again to get some sleep. I'm not good at this. I think I figured out what sends people into the hospital for two week stretches.
They aren't crazy and they aren't in rehab, they're just fucking tired. Tired is a bitch, she is. She makes you want to give up and just cry. She makes you throw caution to the wind. She makes you feel completely and utterly unhinged. See the picture of the mug? PJ bought that for me a year ago and he's used it ever since for his own morning coffee. Because everyone needs to feel like a princess, even big bouncer-types with beards.
In other news, the next person who writes to me to tell me how selfish and horrible I am may please fuck off far in advance. Did I give you Ben's side of the story here? No? Exactly. Maybe because it isn't my place to have to be the one to point out that he basically said he was happy to be home but not interested in pretending we can just pick up where we left off because he's not sure he wants to. That he'll be 'around' but I am not to wait for him. I'm not to..something something, Bridget, please don't cry.
Yeah, envy me.
So basically I took my passport back down to be kept by it's master and accepted a glass of champagne for lunch (this is how the other half lives) and fell asleep standing at the big window, my head on the glass while Caleb tried to talk me out of, oh, pretty much everything.
I just kept saying I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.
I am too tired to care.