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    I love bacon.

    Attempting a 6 am walk to the grocery store for some essentials.

    Because like hell I am walking there during the day when the bees are out.

    Fuck bees. They can live as long as I can be nocturnal.

    Watching you is like watching a fucking cartoon, your whole face enunciates everything you’re thinking—Jess I’m DRIVING.

    My sister.

    Just as I pulled out a bottle of vodka in the backseat of the car.

    And Mom forever re-thought calling shotgun.

    The only drawback to spending time with my sister in Mansfield is that she eats very…American.

    Three strict meals, sparse snacks, and large amounts of coffee and iced tea.

    There’s a box of chai for the keurig she keeps for me, but this morning I was looking at breakfast items and all I really wanted was a bowl of rice and some miso…or a salad. Maybe tacos.

    I don’t really like breakfast foods for breakfast.

    And I’m not used to drinking milk and my tummy feels all gross from that cereal.

    There is an engagement ring floating around my house. I don’t get it until Robbie executes his plans…

    xhesikawrites:

    Something personal:

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    I’ve had this thing about stability.

    To tell the truth, I don’t actually have any furniture in my house because I’d rather do the whole gypsy living, ready to pick up and leave at any time.

    So Robbie and I are taking a step forward in putting down roots. We are actually going through stores and looking at tables, and lamps, and couches.

    I’m looking at all sorts of decorating ideas now. To the point where I stop movies and look at the decor closely.

    For example, watching OUAT, Belle wakes up from a nightmare and I yell for Robbie to pause so I can look at the lamps and color-schemes.

    I may have a problem.

    Oof, oh my you are pleasant to look at.

    As if last night at work didn’t make me angry enough, I went back tonight for 4 hours to help out.

    I must be a glutton for punishment, because I’m too heated right now to calm down and its been an hour.

    Where is the fucking wine.

    The worst part about being an adult is bills.

    Not even just paying them.

    Remembering which ones you already paid because nothing has the same due date, and then stressing out thinking you’re missing something.