Dear diary,
The walls of the apartment are moving in on me. I can feel it. They want to crush me and release me from this beer-less existence.
Today, just as the walls were about to collapse around me, I went for a jog. A JOG! I haven’t run since 2018 before I got pregnant. My legs did this deep intense itching thing it does when I go for a run after a long time. I think it’s my body’s not so subtle way of asking me “bitch, wtf are you doing?”
All of the things I’d like to do are outside. I’m tired of Netflix, the kid won’t let me sit long enough to read. Yesterday I got so desperate, I started to clean. I scrubbed walls and mopped floors and Dear Lord, what is happening to me!?
*Wails loudly*
You know what, I amend that, I want to go outside but like to bars and restaurants and the beach. Ya know, fun shit. Not just to sit on the porch and watch the dozens of cars whose drivers are obviously going grocery shopping or getting gas.
No, I want real life shit. To go to work and complain about my job, then to come home and tweet about how I’m sad I have to go to work tomorrow. I was not prepared to just sit home everyday. Without beach. Without beer. Without boats.
I’m going crazy! Send help! And more importantly, send beers!
.•*´‾`*•.◊ ♥♣ §mìłeǺŵhĩļэ™♥♣.•*´‾`*•.◊ 