anxiety

The weekend is coming, and I’m hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, as usual. No wonder I’m a mess.

The rain has started. I can hear it hitting the deck and the glass of the front door. It might be nice to fall asleep to the sound of real rain outside my window, instead of my phone. I never got to talk to Shawshank tonight. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get…

Is it the weekend yet? No? Then fuck you, bring me another coffee and leave me alone. Just kidding, I love you.