Good morning, loves. It’s Saturday, I’ve been up since 4:25am (and I’m fucking wired for some reason) and today I’m going to the farm.
I don’t know why I woke up that early, I was comfy. I don’t question it anymore, I don’t take off the mask, I just try to lay still and go back to sleep. If I can’t, so be it. I’ll go out to the couch if I’m too warm or restless. Lately, I’ve opted for an updated version to my misspent youth: hiding under the covers, on my phone instead of reading a book.
I continued my week of absolute trash TV by watching more murder trail shit all yesterday. Shawshank gets a complete rundown on everything – conspiracy theories and all – when he comes home every night. If things get good, I’ll text him highlights before he’s back home. Yesterday was no different. It’s all crime, all the time. At least during the day.
We went out for dinner last night, since it was Friday. He completely messed with the cook and switched up his regular order after months of the same burger every week. She asked me if he was serious. This is newsworthy. He also learned that unlike back in RI, when they say “buffalo style” here in TinyTown, the chicken wings are covered in a mix of hot sauce and ranch dressing.
We’re going to the farm today. Shawshank‘s parents bought the part we need to fix the heater in the Hot Mess Express. I need to get some clothes on.
