So life realizes that it's bored again and decides it wants to fuck with me. Again. For entertainment value.
Let's start at point A, shall we? Point A being Christmas day, which is where everything went downhill. Actually, the downhill trek began in small, imperceptible baby steps a week or so before Christmas.
Because my as-good-as-dead colleagues haven't returned from their vacations on the dates they stated in their leave applications, I've been putting in 12 hours a day at work for the past 2 weeks which is why:
- I couldn't spend as much time as I wanted with a friend before he left for good
- I didn't have time to wax and I now look like Sasquatch after a year in hibernation
- I haven't been sleeping right
- I couldn't do anything about the Mother of All Hangovers which lasted 2 whole days after Christmas eve (I staggered through work on both days)
- Also because of my long hours at work, I haven't had the time to shop for something to wear to the New Year's party I'm supposed to go to.
- I've been trying on clothes that I already own and have realized just how much weight I've put on. Snarl.
Ah, but look at me. I'm still standing, still rolling with the punches and still going with the flow. Brava signorina!
Yeah, whatever. Fuck it. I'm getting drunk as a skunk on New Year's.