The New Face in Failure.
My clothes don't seem to fit anymore. If I could bottle depression to sell as a weight loss supplement, I'd be a millionaire.
I'm trying to draw more. I haven't been happy, so I need to sit down and do something for me. In other words, I need to find my smile. Doodling has always been something that I've done only for me; the one outlet that is truly mine and mine alone. Lately, I find myself drawing on scrap paper at work or scratching away at my sketchbook while curled up on the couch at home. It's just too bad that I'll never find a job that I love as much as this.
Or one that I'm as good at.
My cat, Chief, is my new favorite thing to draw. He has puffy cheeks and loves to sit on my lap and drool. And I love Cartoon Network's Chowder.
In other news, Staph Infections seem to be the hip new disease. And I never miss out on a chance to get sick. Or develop some sort of horrible rash. My butt has also deflated. About a month ago, I noticed that there was a dent in my rear. I have no idea how it got there, and with no insurance, I'll probably never find out.
But while visiting home the other weekend, I got my mom to ask one of her nurse friends if she had any clue and the only thing she could think of was "trauma."
The only thing that could have caused any sort of "trauma" was when I had to get a shot earlier in the year. Surely it's not from something almost six months ago?
And wouldn't a steroid make my butt bigger?
