And I'm sure all of you are thinking of ways to punish me. I can only assume that you're thinking along these lines, and you are all sick, sick men.
I hate Initial's roommate, as I've mentioned many many times. But now that stupid 400 lb lesbian with cats and no sense of humor and who takes up the fucking kitchen with all of her Hamburger Helper shit now has mono. And no, she didn't even get it by kissing, but by some sort of stupid story involving mistaking her soda can for someone else's. (It took her about ten minutes to tell the story, and I started to tune out after about 2, but I think I got the jist of it.)
And now all she does is mope around their apartment, watching Dancing with the Stars sixteen times a week. Or at least it seems like that; god that show is on all the fucking time. And she won't even mope around and watch it in her room, on her tv, but instead in the living room, for reasons I can't ascertain. She's closer to the bathroom in her room, she has a mini-fridge so she can keep her soda and late-night snacks near her bed, and that way she doesn't fall asleep on the couch drooling all over the armrest, which her cat licks up. It's so gross.
For the past week, therefore, I've started to convince myself that I've got mono. Every time I wake up in the morning and feel cranky and tired, it's because that bitch gave me mono somehow. Every time I'm out of breath after taking the stairs, it's her fault. When I come home from work and my legs hurt, I blame the bitch. I can barely move my hand enough to lift the remote to change the channel. Or so I claim. I have to stay home and rest up and can't go out and do anything fun.
Couple my hypochondria with the annual bout of SAD, and you should have some sort of sense of why I haven't been posting lately.
That and I'm still not entirely sure how much I can trust Initials about not reading the blog. I know he's found it, and he's repeated that he won't read anything unless I give him permission, and while I trust him, I wouldn't trust me in the same situation. And Initials is around all the fucking time so all of my stories are going to revolve around him, and if I'm not writing about him, there's not much else for me to write about except those posts with hot naked men with books covering the good parts. (We've talked about his clinginess, and he's working on it.)
I am having a lot of fun collecting pictures for my naked reading lists, however.
