Sugar High

Honestly, all I have in me right now is a half a can of Pepsi and some apple muffins. I am tired. I am cold. My tree is listing to the right and is half-lit as 4 strands just doesn't cut it. My fingers are actually aching from the cold. I'm probably dying from inadequate circulation. They're going to start cutting off my appendages before I turn 40 because of the gangrene that will eat away my poor, blood-starved extremities. I'll sink into a serious depression from not being able to not only walk and wipe my own butt, but from not being able to write online and share all of my minuscule tragedies with the entire (or at least .00043%) internet. I'll probably still be having the same argument with Justin over how adding zeroes to the end of a decimal does NOT change its value ("But it's different! It IS! The number is different, Mom!!"). I'll probably still be wearing the Arizona Jeans sweatshirt from 1992 that I have on at this moment as it'll be the only thing warm enough to keep the blood flowing through my frigid torso. That'll be me: 40-years-old-weeping-legless-armless-poorly-dressed and banging my chilly head against my keyboard in an attempt to document the non-existent happenings of my life...

Damn.

I guess for Christmas, I could really use some slippers and cozy gloves. And a new sweatshirt...