Yesterday I tried to make KonMari happen to my drawers but it got really boring so I just started rolling them up haphazardly. I didn't even attempt my underwear drawer because out of all the stupid things that cause me to be irrationally stressed out, my underwear drawer is not one of them. I may touch walls when I have an uncomfortable thought or type out secret messages on invisible keyboards on tabletops when I feel out of control, but I really don't give a shit if my socks are fraternizing with my bras. Because that would be crazy.
Also, when I went to put this drawer back into the dresser it got stuck on something and wouldn't open back up. At one point, I honestly believed that kicking the side of the dresser might help. It did not. Finally I ripped the back of it off and kicked it from behind, but the lesson I learned from the whole ordeal was: I do not "find joy" in my dresser drawers.
I love walking by the NY public library, especially at night because who doesn't, but I feel like if I get too close sirens will go off and I will get arrested because I've owed them money since 2012. WHOOPS.
Sorry I look drunk in this picture; it's only because I'd been drinking. (As we were walking to the train, Diego said to me: "Your eyes look smaller," and also "Your hair is nice and puffy." He meant both of these things as compliments.) The confession here? I never once, as an employee of any establishment that served food, washed my anus before returning to work. I feel better now having admitted this.
Now let's start this week off with clean consciences and, hopefully, clean everything-elses.
