My life has recently evolved into such a stress festival that I have actually stopped having fun. Obviously, this is bad. There is no joy happening at all.
This lack of fun has really yanked the stopper out of the drain in the inspiration tub. Nothing is left in there but soap scum. The highlight of my day was visiting the grocery store. My feeble attempt at self-attention took the form of some chicken mango sausages and a container of tuna salad. No one else around here will eat these things; these are “selfish purchases”. Yes, it is true: when I am feeling down, I still eat healthy food. I am one of those people. Don’t hate me for it.
This stress festival is the worst festival I have ever attended, by far. There are no rides, no second-rate bands, no face painters, no overpriced foam lizards on wire leashes… not even an ugly and inexplicably green stuffed gorilla. Nothing but petty resentment on display here, and I had to bring my own tuna salad.
Whose idea was it to buy a ticket to this mess, anyway?! Probably mine, I will admit, but I am leaving just as soon as I can find my way to the parking lot, and no, I don’t want my hand stamped for re-entry.