I don’t like being at home but I feel like talking about it is unwarranted. Why am I being such a bitch about small, dumb things? Why can’t I just be grateful and happy? But if I go by that logic, then I’m not ever allowed to be upset about anything, right? I find myself being irritated by everything, and the thought of that irritates me too.
I think I’m going to try to leave work early tomorrow and go exchange my dress at vf and then sit in that median area with the trees and benches at Santana Row and finish my book and draw people’s faces because I’m still trying to work on that.