Something over seven hours left of this year.
Just came back from the property tax drop box.
There went an entire month's take home pay.
Next month will be the quarterly home insurance payment,
a little more than two weeks' take home.
As soon as I pay this decaying blue albatross off (in just about three years)
I need to sell it and get out of the taking-care-of-way-too-much-adult-crap mode
Let someone else deal with the everything that breaks
and everything that needs constant overpaying for.
What's the line?
I'm getting too old for this shit?
But obviously I'm not getting too old for cursing.
I'm doing more and more of that the older I survive.
(Sorry Mom)
More and more cursing and less and less caring about it.
Do I owe that to abandoning my adolescent inhabitations
(the strange and unachievable need to project the good girl I was supposed to be)
or
to embracing a newfound maturity wherein I simply accept that shit's going to be shit
(even if I'm being the shit)
or
if I have finally achieved the fragile equilibrium between natural emotional chaos
and faux equanimity through creative use of pharmaceuticals?
Well, here's to a new year in which to pursue the answers to these and many other like-mindedly silly questions.
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