I swear to fucking god, the universe won’t let me have my birth certificate. I was so chuffed discovering I can print the passport application form at work. It was perfect, I’d go to the Warhammer store and hit the post office on the way tomorrow. And just like every other time I need my birth certificate, I can’t fucking find it. Every fucking time.
The worst part is that I know that he probably knows exactly where it is. Every time I need it, I tear the house apart. Then he waltzes in and says “Oh, it’s ____.” But he already made his call for the night. Unless he calls tomorrow night, I won’t talk to him again until Sunday when I visit.
