Later, turkeys

I am waiting around for Prunella to get ready to leave town. We have different ideas about “getting an early start.”

We also don’t seem to see eye-to-eye on “Mom if you tell me you want to leave Thursday because you’re sick Wednesday, don’t be looking at me Wednesday night saying, ‘Oh I got ready today because I never know what you are going to do.”

Filed under “Day that ends in Y.”

Its been a shit year. Having my debit and credit cards hacked, money stolen out of my Walmart account, an undeserved moving violation ticket, a disaster of a hire, everyone else getting privileges that I am excluded from, boy problems, a lawsuit and not one but two apartments from hell and all the bullshit that goes with it, I’m on the edge.

This is the part where I’m supposed to say thank God for having a roof over my head, a job to pay the bills, a clunky old car that somehow always manages to get to where he’s going and (albeit a shell of) a mom who worships the quicksand I walk on.

I will say this. I am glad not to have the wrong man cramping my style.

Looks like Prunella is ready. I will consider my nails dry enough and I will get us the hell out of here. Because, I can. And I’m really grateful for that, more than anything …

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