This post was supposed to be about Box #2, a box of crap that I've kept safe and sound for about 8 years now. Unfortunately for all involved ("you," me, posterity), I can't find the fucking box. This is a problem, because this box served a purpose, albeit an I'm-so-sentimental-you-wouldn't-believe-it one. Let me explain--it's a 'break-up' box. All the shit normal people would probably throw away after a break-up that I don't have the guts or desire to (and never will--unless, of course, someone accidentally just did it for me... fuckers).
I haven't gone through what we'll call 'the depths' to look for it yet, so possibly this post can come to fruition this afternoon, but right now I've got a lovely lunch date, and should probably put on some pants. Hopefully you're not at Scioto Park staring into my parents' house, because then you've been seeing me walk around without any pants on all morning. That's just how I roll.
No comments:
Post a Comment