Dear Universe,
Oh my fucking god it is so fucking gross outside. It is cold and wet and nasty and shitty and wet and cold and gross. On top of all that, the warmest of my warm pants reek of stinky buck and I am feeling overwhelmed by the task of moving my possessions once again. And it's my dish day. This isn't to say that I'm in a bad mood at all, actually. I guess I'm just feeling complainy.
It's crazy to think back a couple months to when the idea the getting in the creek was appealing! Those days were hot, long, yellow. I would be up and at 'em, elbow deep in the mud (metaphorically speaking) at 7AM. Now seven in the morning looks like fucking midnight and it's 40 degrees outside. I swear I am not complaining, but rather acknowledging the very real effects of seasons on my life.
Living & eating with the seasons sure is a wholistic fucking experience, I'll tell ya.
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