All night at work, I had the feeling I was about to start crying. It kinda sucked and I'm mad at myself for showing emotion. At this rate, I'll never be a robot.

And, again, I really fucking hope this is PMS.

I kinda don't want to talk about why I feel shitty. Reason number one- I'm lazy and explaining things would only cause more work. Reason number two- You don't want to know. Reason number three- Even if you did want to know, I don't know.

Yeah, it's been one of those weeks.

I need action. Take that as you wish. I don't give a fuck.

My mom found this lizard in the kitchen sink. She picked it up and spent the next twenty minutes telling it how darling it was.

Look at those big, soulful eyeballs.

The thing wasn't even an inch long. No joke.

You remember how when you were a kid and taking a bath usually meant pretending to be a motorboat until your parent yelled at you for letting your mouth touch bathwater? Howie likes to pretend he's a motorboat, too.

Duck bubbles.

Shut Up still comes in the house to yell at me until I feed her. Then she gets all cute-like when eating and I'm like, "Aww. You're such a darling little poultry banshee."

Shut Up knows what she wants, bitch.

Fucking FIN.

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