Confessions

Every once in a while, I am blown away by just how self-destructive we humans can be. I can know something is absolutely going to end badly, and I will do it anyway. I know the mantras of wisdom - "a stitch in time saves nine," some malarkey about an early bird and a worm (which frankly disturbs me because I've never really wanted a worm myself), the correlation between anger and shame, and other things everyone is sure Ben Franklin said. We all know them, and occasionally, or even frequently, attempt to uphold them. And then it gets hard. Or we get bored. Or our basic human need to screw up takes over. Yes, I actually feel like I have a genuine need to mess up on a semi-frequent basis. It keeps things interesting. It's like the "bad boy/girl" you date, knowing that he/she is a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad person, but dear, sweet Christmas do you ever want to go there! Rebelling against common sense feels good, like picking at a scab or screaming at the top of your lungs until your throat hurts.

I have been self-destructive lately...pretty much ever since I returned from Florida (which was AMAZING).

I LOVE the beach. Maybe more than I love paper towels.
And y'all know how I feel about my Bounty.

Late nights - even when I have work the next day.

This was 3 AM - my sassy face never tires.

Countless drinks (but no drunk driving - that's never cool).

Approximately seven hundred Red Bulls.

Overspending...and this...

THIS is how I have been "keeping" my house for the last two weeks.

 

What. The. Actual. Crap?

So last night, after an INSANE weekend, I decided I'd had enough. Time to right the world again.

And the people said AMEN.

Don't worry - I'm sure it won't last. Nothing gold can stay, am I right? Plus, I have the next FOUR DAYS off work - there's plenty of damage to be done. Y'all are on notice.