I hate it. It’s a shitty way to end an otherwise completely fabulous weekend.
This morning upon waking: Me: Good morning, Jackson. Him: Mom, wouldn’t it be cool if a penguin was on top of the Eiffel Tower? Me: Totes.
Super productive weekend though. Work, cleaning, laundry, lots of kid bonding time, finished a book, read a novella, epic three hour nap, etc. For the record, if you dig horror you should check out The Mourning House by Ronald Malfi.
Seeing my mom was cool. It went really well. I’m pleased. Hopeful even.
Watching the season finale of Girls. My absolute favorite quote of this season was in the first half of this episode: “She has a lot to say about the feminist approach of being a fucking bitch.” I lol’d.
I love Lena Dunham. I wish I had her confidence.
I feel lucky and spoiled and not good enough all at the same time.
Forever fucking tired.
Busy week ahead. That’s part of what’s causing the anxiety.