I’m New York State drunk, but not me drunk.
T.J.
Did I dream it?
(via fueledbyphotos)
You try until you can’t.
I just feel like crying today. Hard, sobbing, heaving cries. I can’t explain it, I wish I could.
Yeah, I’m sorry I haven’t made the time for you lately like I used to.
(847): Rock
(630): Scissors
(630): Fuck
textsfromlastnight.com
Confirmed.
Blowing me off? Check.
Not answering my text? Check.
Long blond hair in your bed? Check.
Not hearing from you for days? Check.
Making excuses to not see me? Check.
Turning your phone off at night? Check.
Her car in your driveway this morning? Check.
Sitting on my bed, surfin’ the inter-web.
Livvy’s running around the apartment like a crazy person (dog, actually).
In and out, in and out of my room.
She loves this motorized ball I got her.
It even merits a howl/bark from her once in a while.
In and out, in and out of my room.
Playing with this ball.
All of a sudden it gets quiet, very quiet.
I hear a ripping sound.
That does not sound like her ball.
I get up, go look.
It’s my slipper.
The one she’s already eaten half of.
I take it from her.
Point it at her and say, “NO!”
She runs into the living room, tail between her legs.
I return to my computer.
She comes to the door with this look on her face that could kill.
“I’m sorry Mom.” Is what it says.
I say “It’s okay, com’ere.”
She hops on the bed, or on me, rather.
Plops down and rests her head on my shoulder.
She gives the best hugs.
Every time you blow me off it gets easier to get over it.
So, thank you for that. Honestly.
