Are you ready? Cuz here we go.

I've downloaded the Fresh Beat Band to my iPod and I must admit to listening to it more than the kids. I don't know what's wrong with me.

In addition to children's music, Christmas music has taken over a good portion of my life. Granted it was only Christmas two days ago, but you would think that three months of the Bare Naked Ladies singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen would be enough but it's so not.

I went away for four days over Christmas, leaving early Friday morning and returning late Monday night. I did ALL the kids' laundry before I left and was greeted with three full loads of their crap when I arrived home.

And yes, it feels like home.

Everywhere feels like home.

You know that phrase, "make yourself at home"? You don't even need to say that to me. I will. And I have. If you've ever invited me in to use your bathroom I now feel like I own your house.

Anyway, cut back to me doing three loads of laundry. R used 9 pairs of panties in 4 days. I don't know what goes through her head, but she changes outfits like five times a day and that includes underwear. She wasn't much more conservative with socks either.

And the family must have attended parties every night because every nice sweater and pair of jeans in this house was dirty. There was a pile of coats and fleece in the kitchen and J had peed on the daybed in the playroom, thoroughly soaking several stuffed animals and a pillow.

Christmas vacation over.

It was probably good that I had something to keep me busy all day because I overslept this morning after my violent crash from my four day sugar high. When I went to bed last night I was WIRED and I felt a lot like Hammy in Over the Hedge.

I had managed to nod off on the bus ride home but then running from there to the train and people watching on the late night LIRR woke me up again. I had so much energy I unpacked my bags. I've never unpacked the night I got home from anything. Ever.

Not even Africa. I usually just crash and then I unpack as I need things.

It was so weird.

And before I forced myself to stop moving and close my eyes and pretend to be asleep until actually falling asleep (my new insomnia-fighting tactic) I sat down and charged all my electronics and then AND THEN I wrote New Year's resolutions.

I have never done that before. I've never even thought of any before.

I've always thought the whole tradition seemed silly. And I still do. But I'm going to participate anyway because I am nothing if not a hypocrite.

So here's what I got:

1) Stop being such a hypocrite.

2) Do my devotions once a day (not once a week in seven rushed entries).

3) Blog every day.

and my personal favorite,

4) Talk the kids into talking their parents into getting them (me) a kitten.

I've always thought this was off the table because the kids are always telling me "Daddy's allergic" but T just informed me that he's allergic to dogs too and Willie Nelson is still here...so...

I think it's only fair that if I am willing to put up with his dog breath and BO and clean the stupid frog tank once every...well...twice, I've cleaned it twice, then I deserve the pet I actually want.

I would ask directly, but I have a feeling the pleas of little children are more effective than the demands of the nanny.

Although, nanny demanded a few other things that nanny got. Nanny has had no trouble having demands met. Maybe I should...but this way just seems to much funnier.

Now, monsoon rains and wind are threatening to knock out the power so I have to go soak up as much cable as possible before the blackout.

Snobby holidays!

That's what I am going to wish people this year.

Tonight I have a Christmas party to attend which means tomorrow I will be a sleep-deprived mess and then Friday I am taking a Martz bus into the Poconos to be with my family for Christmas. Taking the Martz line is something I have avoided with a fervor ever since moving here. I've only used them twice because you have to sell your organs to afford them, but it seems that at holiday time everybody's prices get that high and since they are the most direct I thought now was a good time to let them have whatever I can get for a kidney.

On Sunday I attended a Hanukkah Harry party, which is basically secret Santa, who I disapprove of. It was at E's mother's house and his side of the family was there. They asked me if my family did a secret santa and I said no, we don't even like Santa. To which E's sister said, "Why? Are you Catholic?"

I just love the disconnect between cultures and religions.

I laughed and told her no and that my church wasn't even against Santa, so to speak, just that I thought it was a silly tradition and that kind of thinking seemed to be prominent in my family.

Regardless of my lack of Hanukkah and what they perceive to be Christmas spirit, I was given two Hanukkah gifts from E's mother. There was a $20 spending limit that more than a few people violated. And since Mom E had just given me a present after J's birthday party last month I wasn't expecting her to feel obligated to get me anything else.

But I received a (horrible) sweater and a lovely brooch, which greatly exceeded the spending limit. E got a keychain and expressed his jealously after we got home. Haha.

For all the grief Mom E has caused me, she is very sweet and she really, really likes me because I take good care of the kids.

Yesterday we did a whole lot of nothing all day and then since T was working through the evening and I had agreed to make dinner, I googled a traditional Hanukkah dinner and fried everything I could think of. I made latkas, chicken and artichokes. T brought home some of the greatest donuts in the entire world.

Right before she got home her mom stopped by to say hi to the kids. She hung out for a bit and they played while I cleaned the war zone that my room has become since the electrician came in to install outlets. I HAVE ELECTRICITY!

When it was time to T's mom to go she said she had to run out to the car and then came back, handed me some folded up cash and said, "Merry Christmas. Don't lose it."

I had vivid flashbacks to my childhood when anyone gave me money and my mom said the very same thing, and then I laughed and thanked her and she headed out.

We ate so late that the kids were a wreck, not mention the effects of the cold that they are all getting over. It took over an hour, but we got them all fed and then they were presented with their one big Hanukkah present; a play kitchen.

R was beside herself with joy while it was being assembled.

I took the kids one at a time to get ready for bed in matching pajamas and then they sat by their kitchen for the photo op of the century. J was literally falling asleep while droning, "cheeeeeeeeeeeeese."

This morning the kids were barely functional but we all have so much to do we sent them off to school anyway. I planned out my travels for the next few days, got a few emails and phone calls out of the way and then of course, since I was online, I had to check Facebook sixty-five times.

I thought I had neglected you all long enough too, so here's what that resulted in.

I am now going to spend the rest of the day (until party time) washing sheets and clothes so that when I come back after four days away I won't have to do much. It's all about planning, people, planning.

I like to make detailed plans to get everything done at once so that I can slack off for days at a time.

It's going to be great.

Merry Christmas and snobby holidays!

If I had to live through today, so does everyone else.

I'm not usually one to refer to a day as a "hard day."

In my opinion they each have their challenges and graces. There aren't many full days of my life that I can just discount as crappy and wish to never live again. Most of them have some redeeming moments.

Today, however, does not.

This was a hard day.

J has perfected the art of puking into his plate when his parents enter the room. When I tell him to stop gagging and chew, he does, but only if no one else is around. If Mommy or Daddy are there he ignores me, continues gagging and loses everything he may have eaten up until that point.

Oh, I'm sorry, was that too graphic for you?

WELL TRY EATING BREAKFAST WHILE THIS IS GOING ON.

So that was breakfast.

And the baby had his last class at the library which might have been the closest thing to a normal activity that we had today except that I didn't take any lady products with me and GUESS WHAT I NEEDED HALFWAY THROUGH THE CLASS.

So, I had to just breathe through that one and we got home and he went to sleep and I sat down and then remembered that I hadn't been home all morning and there were breakfast dishes in the sink and laundry in the dryer and I have a list of things I want done or packed up for tomorrow. So I started on that and R got home all too quickly.

And then the baby woke up early and at first I wasn't sure why but then I did.

Because shortly after he woke up his stomach revolted and his rear end has been on fire ALL DAY. Every hour on the hour he starts pulling at his diaper yelling, "Poopoo! Poopoo! NOOOOOOOOOOO!" And when I change him there's not much in there, just enough to burn his poor hiney bright red and make him scream when I try to clean it off.

I had to stand him under warm water and just rinse it the last few times because I felt so bad trying to wipe his butt.

So while that was going on every 45 to 60 minutes, J got home and started asking for food and then R got home and started asking for food and then -- OH THEN IT GOT REALLY GOOD.

Remember when we were in school and it was fire drill day and you were sitting in class and everything was normal and then all of a sudden you were partially deaf and you were thinking, why am I always seated right next to the alarm on this day?

That's what it felt like right around 4:30 in this house today. I mean, it was already pretty hectic and noisy but when they coordinate so that noises are coming at you from every direction in every possible octave at the highest achievable decibal level it really is something mind-blowing.

My mind was blown.

Then it was time to make dinner.

I've never cooked "dark meat" chicken before. It's the chicken thighs that have been deboned and honestly, I don't know why this is considered food. I find chicken thighs pretty revolting to begin with but when you turn them into floppy, fatty blobs of "meat" I just don't see how this is appetizing.

But that's not the point.

I've never cooked dark chicken and so I've also never smelled it. IT STINKS. I opened the package and almost threw it all away. But it didn't smell rotten. It just smelled awful.

Is that what animal carcass smells like?

I haven't been eating a lot of meat in the recent months, less and less as times goes by. I've had only chicken and some turkey on Thanksgiving, but after tonight I think I am leaning closer to full-fledged vegetarian.

I doused it in spices, all the while replaying that episode of Seinfield where George's dad tells about spicing the rancid meat during the war and making an entire mess hall of soldiers sick. I was picturing my kids taking two bites and then doubling over in pain and vomitting all over the kitchen when I called my mom to ask her if dark chicken is supposed to smell like the worst thing on earth and, more importantly, why anyone eats it.

After we decided that it was ok, I had to chase the kids out of the kitchen and away from any potential snacks. I changed the baby and smothered his hiney butt in cream and powder and ointment. I checked on dinner. I changed the baby. I told them no snacks. I changed the baby.

You see where this is going? For an hour.

Skip to dinner.

R tasted the chicken and said it was so yummy she could eat without mayo. This is a huge compliment. I fed the baby only rice and kept asking him to describe the goings on in his diaper. All was quiet in the Pampers.

J ate his rice and then began practicing his most annoying behavior. I think he must have entered a contest or something because he pulled out all the stops. Bouncing, getting out of his chair, gagging, spitting his food out, crying, you name it.

His response to time outs lately has been to snap into action and gobble down his food.

Not so tonight, my friends. Not so.

After two tries I put him to bed. He was tired. I have things going on. The baby was screaming again. Bed time for J!

He washed up, brushed his teeth and went to sleep.

I think he knew as well as I that he had no fight left in him.

While he was lying in bed drifting off but still whining, the baby was half nude on his changing table cursing my name while I dabbed ointment on his bright pink rear end, R discovered a fallen Saltine in the hallway.

Rather than summon the dog as is habit, but we have been scolded by the vet for doing recently, she was a good girl and she went downstairs to get the dustbuster. I left the baby's butt to air dry a bit and went to tell J to zip it. I got back to the baby's room in time to hear R return with the vacuum, clean up the mess and then drop the dustbuster and spill everything inside it onto the hallway floor.

Everything, including the Saltine she'd just picked up, three tons of baby powder (I might be exaggerating) and a few dead critters from my neck of the woods.

"Sorry Kimmy!"

"I know, I know. You are trying to help me. I appreciate it."

I sent her to watch the baby on the changing table while I took care of the grossness. J fell asleep.

We let the baby down to run around diaper-less in his room for a while. I rolled up his rug and closed the door so that any drippings would land on the exposed wood and be dealt with immediately.

The first pee I missed, but it was small. I noticed it after he stepped in it a few times and tracked it all over the room.

The second one was slightly more intentional. He sat down on a vinyl playmat R had brought into the room, peed and then cried happily, "Mess! Mess!" And splashed joyfully.

The third one (IN FORTY MINUTES, MIND YOU) was a river. There was motive, intent and passion behind it. I saw the puddle only for a fraction of a second before my hand moved on its own accord, siezed the baby and removed him from the vicinity, even while he began to smile and chant, "MESS! MESS! MESS!"

He seemed to be feeling better and I seemed to be losing my very last precious marble (and I NEED my marbles, I really do) so I cleaned him up, dressed him for bed and ditched him for the night.

But wait, there's more.

R, my right hand, my sweet helper, turned against me.

There was stomping and throwing of oneself onto the bed in anger. A surge of tears and a long moment of defiance before Kimmy won. And win I did.

She was calm again as we tucked her into bed and then, thank goodness for God's timing, E got home. I ran away the way I used to clock out after my retail jobs. Quick like a bunny, a band-aid. Make like a tree and get the heck out of there!

The best part of all of this, the real punch line to the entire day?

T was supposed to be home at 4.

Basement ecosystem update.

I’ve become very accomplished at falling asleep without killing all the other living things in the room. Call it maturity, call it severe exhaustion, but it’s happening.

For some reason I can’t quite put my finger on, crickets are attracted to my corner of the basement and my corner alone. They’re coming in through the (now empty) cess pool trap and then they make their way around the perimeter of the basement and into my room. They set up shop on the wall to the right of my bed, under the window, and then wait to see if I am going to kill them.

If I try to, they jump around like hyperactive children while I suppress screams and risk nosebleeds from my sky-rocketing blood pressure. If I succeed I am left with a pile of cricket legs and guts and the knowledge that one more wooden puppet has lost its conscience. If I don’t succeed, the cricket hops out of sight for ten to fifteen minutes and then makes the trek back to the open trap.

If I don’t make an attempt on their lives, they just sit on said wall and watch me read. Sometimes they sing and I have learned it is best to just join in lest I lose my mind trying to tune the little buggers out. We might harmonize a patriotic number or a T Swift ballad (back up, baby, back up) or lately, a heart-wrenching rendition of O Holy Night and then as I drift off to sleep I watch them slowly tip toe up the wall and into the oblivion between the rafters.

Ok, it’s not an oblivion, it leads directly outside.

Surprisingly, nothing comes in that way. That I’ve noticed anyway. I intentionally don’t pay much attention.

I haven’t seen any spiders down here since I started spraying for them on a regular basis. And the silverfish have been diminished to such low numbers of youngsters (You can tell because they are small. Those two and three inch monsters are 6 months to 2 years old. That’s right, there’s a bug with a longer lifespan than some goldfish. Barf.) that they have had to regroup and retreat until they are of marriageable age and can reproduce to save their population. But the joke is on them; I’m going to kill them before they can do that.

But I have an occasional roly-poly, which I don’t mind at all. And once or twice I’ve come across some beetle-looking thing, but not on my side of the basement, so I don’t mind them.

And so I have learned to sleep with these critters haunting my space, namely the crickets. I’ve forgiven their resemblance of spiders and as long as they are not touching me or my bed I can handle bunking with them.

At least until I get over this recent bout of insomnia and can function again.

We love you Old Gray Hair!

I just came from tucking R in. I was lying beside her in her bed and she was telling me I couldn't wear a dress tomorrow and I said, "You're not the boss of me." To which she replied, "No, Old Gray Hair is the boss of you." And then we both laughed so hard we cried. I've never heard a four year old make an actual funny joke and I've never shared a laugh like that with one either. It was quite funny.

For anyone not in on the joke, Old Gray Hair is my poor mother. And also a Native American in The Last of the Mohicans. R decided to call my mom Old Gray Hair on a whim last week and I explained to her that this was also an ooooooooooooold man in a movie. She was quite pleased with her cleverness.

In other news, the iPod in the baby's room is stuck on repeat and has been for two days now. We put music on while he sleeps to block out the noise of the rest of the house. During the blackout that followed the hurricane the iHomes were all useless and the house was SO quiet. I swear that baby has super sonic hearing as well, and he woke up every time we breathed too loudly.

But he doesn't seem to mind the same song (Time to Say Goodbye -- by Some Italian Guy) playing over and over and over and over again all night long. The rest of us do, but he doesn't. Last night T and E were out and I had to take the monitor downstairs with me. I almost ripped my ears off. Then I just turned the volume off and hoped that if he woke up crying I would just see the red light indicating blood-curdling screams in the dead of the night.

Fortunately he didn't wake up on my shift and the very second I heard the garage door open above me I turned off the monitor.

Baby I's new catch phrases include "Oooooooooooooooooo!" and meowing. I take full responsibility for both of them as I like to meow and also exclaim "OOOOOOOOOO!" every time I discover something I like, no matter how mundane.

The doorbell rings and it's a package for me.

"Ooooooooooooo!"

T's blow dryer brushes hair stick straight while drying.

"Ooooooooooooo!"

The garbage man has been throwing away our recyclables because this company doesn't take plastic and if I just stick to glass and metal the right truck will pick it up.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

That was a big moment for me. It's been an ongoing battle since I got here. E and T told me not to bother with the recycling because the garbage man was just throwing it all out but I knew there had to be a reason. And I was right.

This company doesn't take cardboard or plastic. How lame is that? It has greatly reduced the amount of actual recycling we have any given day. And no we are throwing out oodles of plastic and cardboard. Especially right now.

Do you know how many milk jugs, tissue boxes and Cheerios boxes having three kids in the house can produce? Enough. That's for sure.

I spent all of today kneading cookie dough and freezing it for the next few weeks. I baked some and the kids decorated sugar cookies. E came into the kitchen while we were hard at work.

"Ahhhh, Kimberly, I know what you're doing here." He said smugly. "Child labor. Having the kids make Christmas cookies for you. I know that's what's going on."

He couldn't be more right.

I am not even really a nanny.

We were all home all day and the banter and ridiculous accusations have gone on just as long. There was much laughter today.

Except for the baby. He's moody and all he does is throw tantrum after tantrum. He's learned that his gentle "falls" to the ground aren't getting attention and so he has actually begun to throw himself to the tile floor and has several bumps as a result. He's still not getting his way though and it's really ticking him off.

He ran from adult to adult all day trying to get us to give him things he wasn't allowed to have or do things he's not allowed to do to no avail.

So maybe he would be more bothered by the repeating iPod if he wasn't so exhausted from screaming at everyone all day.

I have to go turn the heat down now. It's become something of a sauna in here.

I'm going to put on a sundress and wrap Christmas presents while singing Christmas carols to myself. It should be fun.

Gobble gobble.

The two days that I worked after J’s birthday party were all about cleaning this place up and making it livable again. 30 kids can do a lot of damage in three hours. Someone spilled cranberry salad in the playroom, but right on the gate so that it also bounced into the hallway. The playroom is wood floor and the hallway is tiled, so I got to mop all kinds of different things. The night of the party R had the BIGGEST pee accident in the universe and T put baby powder on it to keep the smell to a minimum until the washing machine was free. So of course then there was baby powder all over that floor, the bathrooms had been trashed during the party and then there was the tiring after-party chore of popping all the balloons that haven’t already popped and finding ALL the pieces to those that exploded and throwing them all away. I hate balloons. They’re loud, annoying choking hazards that have no place in my household.

I was going to take the day off on Wednesday because my mother was coming into the city for a good old Snobby Thanksgiving. She planned to arrive around 1, so naturally I was expecting her around 3. When I saw the weather prediction for Wednesday, I told T I would work Wednesday morning rather than go out to town in the downpour. I told her my mother was due in around 4 and made dinner reservations for 5.

At 3 o’clock I changed our res to 6 and while Mom, after leaving over 2 hours later than planned, was sitting in traffic, T got home and I went down to the basement to pack.

At 5 Susie McQ (that’s my mother’s REAL name, despite what she says) arrived with some boxes of mine from the Perez storage unit and I put them in my room, showed Suze the changes that had been made around here since I moved in, introduced her to T’s mom who had dropped by and we ran out of there to escape R and J, who were swatting my mother on the rear end and being otherwise bratty. The baby cried and tried to come with me. I love him.

I had spent the morning browsing coupons and dinner deals in the Great Neck area but didn’t find anything I wanted to take advantage of. Buy one get one hamburgers just didn’t seem like a festive enough pre-Thanksgiving dinner dinner, especially because I don’t eat beef. All my regular haunts are pretty regular so I thought I’d take Mom to a place that I have wanted to try since I got here but didn’t have a big enough occasion to do so.

Simply Fondue.

Fondue is among the top ten best foods ever invented. Nay. Top five.

Our waiter was bored, so he gave us all the extra help and attention we needed to order from the complicated menu and after we chose all our fondues and meats and sauces and salads we were served the best meal I have had in a really long time. And I eat a lot of good food.

We got to dip all our own food in one of the two fondues we had chosen and we had veggies and meats and pasta and shrimp. The waiter showed us how to stuff mushrooms and bread them and dip them. For dessert we had white chocolate amaretto fondue and I’m telling you this to make you jealous (Brianne). Our waiter lit a layer of alcohol on fire and we roasted marshmallows and then stirred in amaretto and dipped fruits and cookies until we ran out. We were offered more but there was no room left in the waist of my pants and it was getting late so we headed out.

To sum up, it was the most fantastic pre-Thanksgiving dinner dinner I have ever had. And everyone should eat at Simply Fondue.

Everyone.

We went on from there in our fancy dinner clothes to visit my Aunt and cousin on Staten Island and drop off Susie’s car. We made a pit stop at the place we were staying in Manhattan to first drop off three pies. Three.

Mom made three pies. For six people.

We were late to my aunt’s house but we hadn’t seen her in a while so we had to gab and then we missed the ferry back to the city. By the time we got on the next ferry we were tired. When we disembarked from the ferry and began looking for the subway we were pooped. As we walked the 8,432 miles (I clocked it) underground to the train we needed my poor feet succumbed to the pain of walking in fancy boots for 8,432 miles and my mood plummeted.

I started to ask if we were there yet.

And then when we finally were, Mom was so tired she second-guessed herself and we let a train pass that would have taken us where we needed to go. So we sat down. And we waited. And I cursed my feet for not being better sports about wearing such pretty boots.

We got our train. We got to uptown Manhattan within blocks of our destination.

I took off my boots and walked in my brand new white socks on the New York City sidewalk. I could feel blisters that had formed and they were on fire and I just wanted to go to bed.

I threw my socks away immediately.

We were staying with a family friend from the Poconos (Poke to the oh to the nose) who now lives in Manhattan and whom we call Mare. It had been a while since we visited with her and we were going to spend Thanksgiving with her and her two grown children. We even had an ambitious plan to get up and go see the Macy’s Parade at the hiney crack of dawn.

Since it was nearly 2 am when we dropped into bed I let Mom out of getting up at 5 am and we slept in a bit.

Until 7. Mom got up and got ready and I missed my alarm and got up after 7. We left before 8 and hurried out to get good spots. We had seen the setting up going on the night before on our pass through the city. The giant balloons were blown up and waiting under nets on side streets and bleachers had been set up along Central Park. My plan was to climb over whomever I had to in order to get on the bleachers.

But the cops wouldn’t let us through. We walked and walked and walked and were told several different things by several different cops about where we should go. We went up a side street and my little mother tried to muscle her way through a crowd to get back up to the park and get a good spot. Instead we got stuck in a crowd with no view at all.

We backtracked and tried again with no better results. We stood back in the middle of the side street, directly in front of a police car. We had a view of the balloons, the tops of the floats, and all the children’s backs in front of us.

I started to make small talk with the nice looking policeman at my side. I smiled and made jokes and he laughed and I tried to convince him to let us climb on top of his car. It didn’t work. We stayed there until we were nearly frozen and then gave up and started home. But on the way we were beckoned by curiosity and driven by determination to walk up a pathway that we had previously been shooed back down. This time when we reached the street where the parade was taking off there were no cops to stop us. The crowd was thin and we walked along the street until we had a front row spot. We were face-to-face with some men dressed as fairies and some performers dancing. We were standing before the start of the parade line and we had the best view of everything.

Best parade I’ve ever been to.

Back at Mare’s house we began the blessed American tradition of stuffing our faces.

It was so fun to just sit and talk and laugh and eat that we decided to do just that all day.

I checked in with T around 7 to tell her I would start home soon. She and the family had gone to E’s aunt’s for Thanksgiving and T was jealous of my dinner because it would include a turkey while hers would be largely Persian food that she eats all the time. She was headed home as well so I stayed until nearly 8 and then said my goodbyes and headed for the subway while slightly under the influence.

Merlot.

I found my subway, entered on the wrong side, went back up to the street, entered on the right side and boarded a train that was already in the station.

I was back in Penn Station with five minutes to get to a Great Neck train that I hadn’t expected to even see. I got home an hour earlier than planned.

Slightly under the influence.

Merlot.

Turkey.

Pie. Pie. Pie.

E and T were home and all the kids in bed. They were so tired they had left the garage door open and the door unlocked and gone to bed. This is not like them.

I texted T to ask if I should close the garage because the merlot had eaten away at my brain cells and made me think that there could possibly be a reason they would leave the house open on purpose. T confirmed that there wasn’t, congratulated me on having a good time with my family and I went downstairs giggling.

I discovered on my bed a pile of clothes and beside my bed the stacks of things my mother had delivered from Pennsylvania and I realized that a small part of me hates my future self. Whenever I am going out and I know full well that I will come back late and want nothing more than to just crawl into bed, I leave junk all over my bed and all over my room and I don’t know where anything is. I stood there for a good five minutes trying to decide whether or not I had to deal with the mess.

In the end, I did, because I couldn’t even get to my bed without doing something.

It was awful.

Have you ever tried to move boxes and make decisions with a turkey dinner, dessert enough for three people and too much merlot all in your belly after walking over 8,000 miles the night and day before and laughing all day?

It’s hard.

Don’t do it.

I stacked everything quite precariously in front of my dresser, posing a problem for my future self in the morning, but I don’t care about her anyway. All I know is right now I am going to crash and it’s going to be wonderful.

Merlot.