Well NeverfuckingMIND Then
I hate apartment-hunting. Hate it. Andrew will say that I'm being melodramatic, but that's only because he didn't see the apartment that I saw today. And because, for some reason, it's okay for him to get depressed, but when I say "fuck this" I'm being ridiculous. Sorry, man, but you can't pull that Pollyanna shit on me this time. The apartment that I saw today had it's own backyard.
Anyway, everything else is going swimmingly. By which I mean that it is raining again. Fucking Portland. SUPPOSED TO BE SUMMER, EH!? DRY IN THE SUMMER, HUNH?!! Lies.
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You know, I got all defensive the first time I read this through, like "That's not true! I just don't *get* depressed, is all. How DARE she say such things!"
But then I thought about it for a quarter of a second, and I had a terrible flash of recognition.
You're right. I need to lay off a bit and let you be sad and frustrated when the mood takes you. I just get panicky when people are upset, because I think I'm supposed to say the right thing to make them feel better.
So please disregard the Pollyana crap. My bad.
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