#lin.vent

I was meant to live alone. Doesn't matter where. A studio apartment in NYC, a little cottage on the beach, a tent in the middle of nowhere, a cheap motel room that I rent by the month. Just. My own space. No pets. No people. No one to need me (I'm tired of being needed). And yes, I know I was just posting the other day about how happy I am to have everyone home but now I remember why I was in constant survival mode. It was bad before but it's ten times worse now, and I'm trying so hard to not lose my ever loving shit and now I understand why my dad likes to drink because we handle things in a very similar way, I just chose food and he chose alcohol ha.

all jokes aside, I think I may be experiencing a midlife crisis. or maybe my kids are just assholes. or maybe...

I can tell I'm about to start my period because we rented this dumpster today, right? to clean out the garage? and my husband's friends came over and started mansplaining why we need to stack shit in it to maximize the space. meanwhile I'm just like "THROW IT ALL AWAY" and I threw a couple of boxes inside it. then my husband and his friend tossed an old mattress in, and it didn't "fit", so the friend says "see, that's why we need to stack it" and I held my motherfucking tongue and came inside the house, where I will stay until they leave, and if they ask for help, I will say no, because obviously I am a woman and I don't know how to throw shit away the right way.