I’m developing a deeper friendship with my colleague across the hall. I really like her. She is interesting and funny and weird as fuck. She reminds me a lot of Lena Dunham. I like Lena Dunham. Haters gonna hate.
F’s hair is everywhere. I’m constantly picking it off myself. At least it’s beautiful hair. Strawberry blonde.
Hung-the-fuck-over.
Drunken arguments and crying that lead to early morning make-up sex and me asking, “Did we argue last night or was it a dream?”
Success is sweet: double boxes, double and triple booked appointments, fucking gangbusters over here. Power coupling. ❤
But…anxiety.
Bestie night tonight = burritos and wine.
I haven’t looked in a really long time and I’m not going to look.
I have recognized some hypocrisy in myself (after a conversation last night). Must fix problem.
Tired, hungry, cold, unmotivated. Meh.
I’m buried in paper.
I need cats, caffeine, pain pills, a massage, a nap, and a burrito the size of my head.
That mutual masturbation scene in Girls was fucking hot. Ideas.
