Don’t even talk to me about mental exhaustion right now. Don’t.
I’m at the point where I can honestly see myself stabbing some poor unsuspecting pedestrian in the eye with a lipgloss wand if they so much as look at me the wrong way. Is this what all the grownups were talking about back in the 80s and 90s? Is this what being an adult means? Frequently having to engage in discussions you don’t want to have, getting up at the crack of dawn when all you really wanna do is lay in bed with a good book and a cupcake, or confronting the fragility of life on a daily basis as your grandparent lies dying in a hospital ward? All the grownups in my life warned me it wouldn’t be all rainbows and unicorns but being all of 12 years old, who was I to take them seriously? I probably thought they were talking about soap operas and not REAL LIFE.
When things are going south as quickly as Gandalf and the Balrog of Moria, I tend to spend money. Retail therapy is real, my friends. Last night alone I spent $100 at Sephora on makeup I will probably rarely use. Why? Because the price was right (apparently) and because the shit I bought had glitter in it. GLITTER. Speaking of glitter, I also ordered a book about Hitler, nazis and their dependency on drugs during WWII. Of course I did.
Not sure what kind of road I’m headed down right now but I hope it’s one filled with sexy European cars and at least ten libraries spaced evenly apart.