4 AM still thinks there’s more secrets
Once again, the freeway brigade was in full swing. And as per usual, lots of offensive “black and white, smokes and mirrors” surrounding me wherever I went. I was sandwiched by the best, and twinned by a female bleach-bonde, pink tank-top wearing, gold minivan driver. Wheelchairs, canes, and blue shirts at Starbucks… Let’s see, what else. Biological parents had to go to a 3rd volleyball game this week - THIS time against those Campbell County (Smoking) Camels. Biological mom left a big box of spoons in a ziplock baggie on the cutting board (it’s like 10,000 spoons) and doused the kitchen with peach ginger room spray (yes- we actually have peach ginger room spray)- RIGHT before she went to bed. And I’m up alllllllll night. Again. Still nothing new to add. Still not at all caring. Never expecting anyone to change their perspectives and care back either. It’s not defeatist, I just got super thick skinned and manned up all over the place. And I’m really glad none of it is happening.
Bike bike. pickle pickle. burger burger. peach peach. steak steak. clouds. beaches. oceans. volcanoes. steam. bubbles. cats. dogs. cows. wigs. cars. engines. triple a’s. batteries. moons. mars. caves. monsters. ice. lava. maze. corn. corn maze. popcorn. peanuts. eyes. ears. legs. arms. chutes. ladders. balloons. tennis. football. pirates. cowboys. space. hair salon. groom and style.
To the gentleman in white adressing his tie-died/rainbow/smile tshirt wearing daughter that just left
If you can’t handle the high-heels to the eyeballs, get out of the game. Take it from someone who only knows life surrounded by egos and drama queens. I couldn’t handle it either. And I definitely quit.