It's been a... week. I'm so tired. But tonight, I made some chicken, cleaned up a bit, and now I'm enjoying my warm, cozy apartment surrounded by my animals and listening to music. I've been playing it all alphabetically on iTunes so I can chuck the shitty songs and sort the ones I like into playlists without getting burned out on one artist at a time. What I'm finding is that I really like my taste in music. I mean- duh, but I am happy with what a range there is and how well it all seems to go together in this weird, wonderful juxtaposition. I feel like I could play my music exactly this- the whole thing- if I ever had a party. Not that I've ever hosted a party. Not that I am planning one. Not that my neighbors would appreciate it. But if I ever did- perhaps a house warming in the small, neat, plant, animal, and thrift store treasure filled house I will someday have- I could play my crazy music and it would actually fit quite nicely- not by carefully crafting a playlist, but by pressing play. That's a nice metaphor.
I'm getting some nice messages that things are ok. I have actively invited Chris to leave me alone for a while and I'm slowly crossing things off my list at work. I have to be diplomatic and capable, and I seem to be. I declined an invitation for this weekend, but I already have one social event planned and I need some rest. I apparently injured my knee and now my kneecap is popping in and out all day, which is painful and wakes me up every time I move. One more day, and I can prop it up and watch movies. Breakfast and lunch are packed, Riley needs to be brushed, and bed is calling. And ibuprofen. Ibuprofen is calling.
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