Some weeks can only be summed up by the rubbery hot dog muse that is the mouth of Taylor Armstrong. Because Monday was so totally this:

Followed quickly by the
bitch-just-you-try-and-flatten-me-down that is this clammy low (dude, it was
bad)...

And as is my wont (who even says that anymore?), my mood rapidly switched...

A slippery slope slide into the abyss of absurdity. (If you look deep enough, I think you may spot Camus.) I.e. shit got funny, fast.

The rest of the week I just sort of hung on by the
mehness of it all...

At some point I may or may not have done this, though really that's none of your beeswax.

And now it is pretty much Friday and I am plum tuckered, my emotions frayed, skin dry, mouth tired of moving.

As the divine Taylor says each week,
I have finally found my voice and I'm not afraid to use it. Which, yeah, awesome for the both of us Taylor, the thing is, don't know about you, but I haven't got much more to say.
xo,
S
2 comments:
You are hilarious.
Can't wait for part 2!!
Post a Comment