Sometime, just for shits and giggles, I reccomend going out to a bar, ordering a voddie toddie and bawling your eyes out. It was actually quite therapeutic.
This afternoon, after apartment #3423 that had no common room, my parents and I tried to find a place to eat. But Sassers, you may say. In Boston there are thousands of places to eat. Right you are, my friend, but there is only one Pappa Sassers who likes being disagreeable. Argh. We ended up at the Pour House and the waitress came over and I ordered vodka and she said, "Is it that bad?" and I said yes and meant it.
I've said it all before: I'm tired, stressed, wanting a place, wanting a job, feeling like I smash my head into a wall a lot, ignoring friends (not on purpose, just that there is no time to do anything but keep on truckin'), crying.
I was bawling at the restaurant. Bawling. Scrunched up face, snotty vodka crying.
I think it may have helped.
I am doing laundry. My parents are doing their own thing in Boston tonight. They are big people; they will be ok. I will do my own thing with Liora.