bouldersandbrews: (ZidanexGarnet - <3)
She's writing her memoirs again. Before the reconciliation with her mother, she had to stop - it was all just too painful, the memories sending her into a deep depression. But she finds it to be far easier now, to write - even though she still has this odd feeling of surreality about her past.

She pauses her writing - what is that word she wants? it's right on the tip of her tongue - and looks over at her husband. He's contentedly surfing the internet. She forgets for a moment her hunt for that perfect word and just stares. It's easy to forget, to take for granted how much her life has changed over the last six years. Easy until she reads back on journal and diary entries from ten years ago, reads back on how miserable and depressed and alone she was.

She sits, her husband's face filling her vision, and wonders. How a life that seemed to have nothing in it at all could be changed so drastically. How a meaningless existence now has some purpose. It's entirely astonishing to her.

You make my life better just by virtue of being in it, she thinks to herself. Never has she been able to say this about anyone before Dave.

In rescuing her from her life, in bringing purpose to her existence, in loving her despite her flaws, he has also given her hope that maybe, just maybe, she isn't entirely unlovable after all.
bouldersandbrews: (Schala)
I hear that Dave is on the phone, and I suspect that he's talking to Carly.

I remember the days when I was all Overly Attached Girlfriend regarding Carly. I still think she was up to no good, but I'm not all nutjob paranoia about it now. The very subject of Carly amuses me... because I'm pretty sure she's insane. Seriously, I hear the name 'Carly' and I want to get a beer and some popcorn and settle in because I know the story's going to be hilarious.

And! It's Lying Monday! How appropriate!

But I won't complain about a window sale. At least, not this one.

So. I have been in a foul mood all day. Largely because it's so freaking cold in my house. There are other reasons, but that's a big one. Hard to be cheerful when you're freezing your ass off.

I've played Secret of Mana for most of my free time today. Don't feel like Mapling - I don't like the Angelic Buster, I'm bored of my Kaiser, and I don't feel like leveling my Phantom or grinding levels on my Luminous or Mercedes right now.

I think I'll go back through my Livejournal and de-privatize some of (most?) my old entries. Because so many people read my journal now, and out of all those people, like all of them would totally go back and read crap from ten years ago. I'm such a narcissist.
bouldersandbrews: (Yuffie Kneeling)
I was seriously considering ranting about the jackass I came across on Maplestory that really pissed me off, but I don't have the energy to maintain that level of rage long enough to write about it.

So after staying up too late last night, I'm just all sleepy and -_- today. Can't really focus on much - too sleepy.

It occurs to me that I must be the strangest adult ever. Me and my bundle of contradictions. Religious but not a spaz about it. Religious but with my, uh, issues. Religious but not unafraid to unleash curses once in a while. (Dave would say, more than once in a while. Mainly because I feel comfortable enough around him and not like I'm going to traumatize him if I suddenly yell out "HOLY SHIT!" while watching the preview of next week's Dexter. Also, around other people I have this image I feel I have to uphold, and swearing isn't part of that image. I really need to curb my cursing. It's not cute, and it's occasionally funny, but it loses its effect and shock value after a while. Wow, long parenthetical statement.) An adult female gamer. Who listens to things like Linkin Park and lostprophets. Almost thirty years old, and...

...I don't feel like any more of an adult than I did when I turned eighteen, hit that magical barrier.

I figure that someday I'm going to have to give up the games, the rock, the occasional anime, and turn into a boring adult woman. I mean, I used to think it was cool that my mom was a semi-gamer, but that was a long time ago and it annoys me now. Although, to be completely intellectually honest, this could just be because this is my mother we're talking about and her every word, thought, and action annoy me now.

But this thought depresses me a bit. The boring adult woman, not Mom. Though Mom depresses me too. But that's not what I'm talking about. Right now.

One of the many reasons I don't get along all that well with adult females my age is that everything they care about is freaking boring or has nothing to do with me - I have nothing in common with them. And yeah, I like sharing funny stories about me and Dave, but I don't allow that to be a topic of conversation for more than a couple of minutes, unless the other party asks questions, because -

Because I know that when I'm talking to a woman and she goes on and on and on and on about her husband/boyfriend I get to critical mass very quickly (unless I know the guy) and then I'm like SHUT UP, FOR THE LOVE OF HUMANITY SHUT THE HELL UP.

Reason #2 - They talk about their kids ad infinitum. Oh you should have seen what little Johnny did the other day blah blah. Okay, that's kind of vaguely cute, I guess I'd've had to have been there. Now shut up because... Bluntly, because I don't care. Because -



And so I have to ask, is this what being an adult normal woman is about? Tormenting people with incessant stories about your kids and husband? Trading recipes and housecleaning tips? All of this sounds so... dreadful to me. So uninteresting. So unlike anything I have any interest in ever doing ever.

Because while these women are going on and on about little Johnny, I'm looking over at Dave talking to a couple of guys and knowing that their conversation is way, way more interesting than this - politics, religion, current events, sports. (Not that I'm all that into sports, but let's be real here, sports is way more interesting than hearing Martha tell me about this one time that little Johnny...)

As if because I have breasts, I'm automatically tuned in to the chick channel - kidsrecipesfoodcookinghusbandscleaning. But this is not really the case. I'm feminine in a lot of ways, but in more ways I'm a guy trapped in a woman's body.

I know this isn't what I originally started off talking about...

Ah yes. I suppose that eventually I'll have to join the legions of Stepford Wives. Kidsrecipesfoodcookinghusbandscleaning. Forgo my dreams of the Presidency. Stop caring about politics. Squeeze out a kid or two. Become a normal woman. But the idea of this fate kind of makes me sick to my stomach, like pretending to be something I'm not and probably can never really be is a physical poison that my body's trying to reject. Because yeah, there are parts of my life I don't like - mostly what goes on in my head - but overall... I like being me. I like the gaming, the politics, the... everything that makes me me and doesn't make me "normal".

But I don't see how continuing to be who and how I am can ever be conducive to being taken seriously as an adult, a wife, a stepmom.

Dave likes me for who I am. He tolerates the gaming. He likes the interest in discussing politics and religion. He's amused by my talking about my Presidency. (No one takes me seriously yet about this.) And this should be all that matters to me, that he likes me. I know I shouldn't be so concerned with what others think of me. But occasionally I take a step back, look at myself objectively, and wonder.

A 29 year old woman, married for almost six years, still playing video games, still talking about Star Wars and Sailor Moon, no job, no kids... is this person for real?

I'm torn between feeling almost obligated to grow up, and being me.

Is this some product of my childhood - like it seems that everything else is? Not that I can trust my sleepy brain to come up with an accurate answer right now, but I kind of don't think so. Unless I can blame it on my father for bring home the Star Wars movies when I was three and letting me watch them. But I don't think I can. I don't think that this is some detrimental effect of my childhood, for once. (O frabjous day!) I think that people's personalities are there from the moment they're born. I think I've always been this way.

I think maybe I just need to accept that

I don't know that I can. It's too weird to me. Too weird to me to think that other people look at me - in the role of wife, stepmom, adult - and see what I see, but see it differently, not as forgivingly as I'm obviously more inclined to.

I think maybe I just need to stop deciding what other people think of me. Dave likes me. Hayden and Lindsay like me. Cathy likes me. Jess likes me. Those are the important people. None of them - I think - look down on me for being me, fitting into an odd role (which is kind of okay since I'm an odd person).

And other people? Like I said, I really shouldn't care what they think, I know this... and yet. And yet I can't seem to just... not.

All this and I've come to no conclusions. Typical.
bouldersandbrews: (Save The Queen)

Dave leans in closely. "But you'll still have me."

I can't help but smile. He's right. Even though Hayden and Linz are leaving, going on to start their adult lives, I'll always have Dave. This fact... it comforts me, soothes the ache in my heart somewhat. I'll miss them terribly, but I'll always have one person here with me that I can count on no matter what.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

bouldersandbrews: (Default)
So Tuesday I wake up, lay in bed for a moment thinking about the stuff I have to do - mostly cleaning up around the house, maybe some preliminary cooking - and then get out of bed. Almost immediately - endo pain. Pretty bad. What makes it worse is that I'm stressing - I can't have endo pain now! I have to clean the house today! And cook tomorrow! And I'm having people over! And cooking more on Thursday! It's freaking Thanksgiving! I can't have endo right now!

Dave, prince of patience that he is, calms me down. "It is what it is, sweetie, and there's nothing we can do about it." True. I calm down remarkably fast (for me) and resign myself to the couch for the day. Perusing my list, I realize that nothing on the cleaning side of things absolutely must be done - if this stuff doesn't get done I'm probably the only one that'll notice - which makes me feel a little better. I'm still stressing a little about the cooking on Wednesday - cooking can't really be done with severe endo pain - but I remember what Dave said - it is what it is - and resume my futzing around.

Wednesday rolls around. Dave goes to pick up Cathy and do the grocery shopping, and I clean what I feel must be cleaned. There's still some pain, but I deal. It isn't as bad as it was Tuesday, and I feel like I can survive my tasklist for the day even with the pain. Bake bread, make pies, do yams, make cornbread - still in pain but I'm doing it anyway.

Thursday! I get up and commence the dressing. Also commence menstruating, which comes along with some pretty awful cramps. But at least the endo pain is mostly gone. Hayden, Linz, and Hayden's girlfriend Taylor arrive. I'm a little nervous 'cause I'm meeting a new person and, being somewhat socially awkward, am somewhat afraid I'm going to, I dunno, turn Taylor off from the entire family, but I deal. Continue cooking. Most of the cooking had been done on Wednesday, so I don't have a whole lot to do, and the wine Dave has opened has dulled the cramps, so that helps too. Dinner is great - I'm not very good at false modesty, and it was pretty amazing - and afterward we all hang out. Lulz are had with the Dictionary game, and then I introduce Taylor (a word gamer) to Speed Scrabble (and reintroduce the rest of the family to it as well). After we peter out of word gaming, Dave and Cathy are sitting on the couch watching animal videos, Hayden and Taylor are on the futon talking quietly, and Linz and I are near the fireplace discussing a friend of hers and doing my nails. I'm watching Hayden and Taylor and smiling to myself, reminded rather strongly of the Thanksgiving that Dave came out for. More on that later... since I seem to have neglected to write about that when it happened. (WTF, Rothwell?)

Overall, it was fun :) What wasn't fun? Jess had a less-than-wonderful Thanksgiving, and posts on FB about it. Mom chimes in with a "next year have Thanksgiving with me and Dad" (why does she call her husband Dad? ...on second thought, I don't want to know). I respond with "next year have Thanksgiving with us!" And Mom comes back with "All six of us together!"

bouldersandbrews: (Yuffie Kneeling)
I seriously don't know why my brain insists on making me dream unpleasant things. I seriously don't. Does it dislike me this much? Does it get some sort of sadistic thrill out of torturing me? I don't get it.

I used to go to bed so late and so exhausted that I wouldn't dream at all. Of course, this makes me miss out on the cool dreams (I just had one a few nights ago where I was a general in an army - that was cool), but at least I'm not tormented by the unpleasant ones.

I would like to point out however that these are not nightmares. I haven't had a nightmare since I was five years old. Seriously. I had the granddaddy of all nightmares when I was five, and apparently that one made up for a entire lifetime's worth of nightmares, 'cause I haven't had one since.

(For those of you who are curious, my little five-year-old self had a dream in which I had to watch Satan torture a guy. It was... well, terrifying. Poor li'l Chrissy.)

All I'm saying is, for example, I've had pleasant interaction with babies that hasn't resulted in them all dying. In fact, I've only had interaction with one baby that died. Instead of having pleasant dreams about babies with said pleasant interaction, which accounts for 99% of my interaction with babies, my brain apparently wants to kill them all off and pass it off as my fault, which only accounts for 1% of said interaction. Thank you very little.

Meh. I know that I can't do anything about it except whine about it. But at least I can do that. :P

So it's getting around toward Thanksgiving again. I guess our plan is to take the kids up to Dave's mom's house again this year. This was nice last year, so I have no complaints. "But Christina, all you do is complain." Har har. I'll have you know that I eat sometimes and sleep occasionally as well as complain, thank you.

I really don't remember very much about Thanksgivings with my family (should I be thankful for that?), but I do remember that almost invariably we'd have it with my grandmother, who was freaking awesome, and of all the people I know that've died, I think I miss her the most. I often wonder how my father turned out to be such a jackass when he had a mother like her.

I think she was the only person in my family that I ever really respected. There was just something about her that commanded respect. Like, you're going to respect me, or I'll kick your ass and then you'll respect me, but either way you're going to respect me. Not that we were afraid of her... okay, we were a little afraid of her, but it was fear mixed with love and awe at the same time.

(Now I have to tell Kim's story. I should get her to tell it, but she's not here.)

So my grandmother had lung cancer. She'd had a tumor in her lung for year, but through sheer strength of will fought it off well enough so that the tumor stayed the size it was when she found out about it... until she had minor surgery on her toe, which diverted her immune system there and let the tumor go nuts, which it did, and at that point she only lived for like another month. Anyways. Have you ever forgotten whether you're still writing in parentheses or not? Just wondering.

Anyway, during the last two weeks of her life, my mom and I moved in with her to ease her out, and Jean and Kim would visit almost every day. Grandma's mind was one of the first things to start slipping, and she was on morphine to boot. (What an odd phrase. Also, I seem to be in rather a parenthetical mood today. Wonder why.)

So Kim's sitting on the sofa, and Grandma's laying in the hospital bed we've moved into the living room for the duration. After a few minutes, Kim gets up to go to the bathroom.

"What do you think you're doing?" Grandma demands.

"Uhh... going to the bathroom?" Kim says.

"No you're not. Sit down."

"But Grandma, I really have to go to the bathroom," Kim explains.

"No you don't! Not that bad. Now sit down!"

Kim sat. As she said years later, "I wasn't about to get up. She told me to sit down, so I sat. Not like she could have gotten up and punished me, but I wasn't about to disobey her."

I think probably Grandma was the only person in Kim's family that she respected, too.

Hehe, I have to tell this one, too. I was getting Grandma something to drink, and made some smart remark, and in a rare moment of lucidity, she smiles and says, "Smartass."

:-( People keep saying that to me and I don't understand why. /further smartassery

Coffee and pineapple is an odd combination.

Well, that all started with me babbling about Thanksgiving. I can tell what kind of a day this is going to be. Then we started having Thanksgiving with Jason and his family. I seem to remember always having fun, Then there was the Thanksgiving that Dave boarded a plane (which he hates doing), flew for nine hours (which he hates doing), and spent Thanksgiving with me and the Cartwrights (which was half-and-half - he liked spending Thanksgiving with me... not so much with the Cartwrights... which is a tale that may or may not get told today, depending on... well, whether I tell it or not. Man, I'm in a rambly mood today. This is what I get for not posting anything meaningful to Livejournal for weeks and weeks. Well, I feel like I have nothing meaningful to say. Wow, I'm still going on in parentheses. Focus, Rothwell.)

Yeah, that was a nice Thanksgiving. And after we got married, it was no longer a option to go have Thanksgiving with the Cartwrights, so we had it at Dave's mom's, and last year we brought the kids with us, and it was fun, so we're doing it again this year.

Oh yes, and there was the time that I had Thanksgiving with the Cartwrights, and then Kim decided I was having another Thanksgiving with her family, wherein the following exchange occurred:

Bethany: Christina, where's your cape?
Christina: *blank stare* My cape?
Bethany: Yeah, the cape you always wear to your sacrifices.
Christina: Oh! Yeah. Crap, I forgot it at the last sacrifice. Man, Lord Rupert's going to kill me. Can you imagine sacrificing a goat without a cape? What am I going to do?
Roger: *very studiously trying to look like he's not paying attention)

And now I have to explain this. See, I told you it was going to be this kind of day.

Christina; Your dad probably thinks I'm a bad influence on you. I mean, I don't smoke, drink, do drugs, have sex with every guy I see... I'm terrible.
Kim: Yeah, but he thinks you're going to make me sacrifice a goat.
Christina: ......................................He did not say that.
Kim: *laughing* Yes he did.

Because I have a weird religion, and he hated my dad. (Not that I blame him.) So I proceeded to make up a fictitious deity (Lord Rupert, King of the Goats) and crack jokes about said fictitious deity at just about every opportunity. Well, Roger of course took me seriously, and talked about it with others, as is proven by the following exchange:

Andrew: Hey Christina, do you really sacrifice goats?
Christina: *blank stare*
Kim: Yes she does.
Andrew: *eyes go round as beach balls* Really?
Christina: Oh man.
Andrew: How do you do it? And where? *proceeds to ask more and more questions*

Hahahaha. This reminds me of the time... Feel free to stop reading at any point, because the rest of this entry is just going to be more of the same rambling from subject to subject. I'm serious.

Anyway. That reminds me of the time that TSC Asshole Ben came up and brought his idiot cousin Kenny. Somehow Kim started on about Lord Rupert, and Kenny believed every word we said. So naturally we spun him a rather large story about Lord Rupert, and the ceremonies and sacrifices and whatnot, and he believed us, regardless of my stopping halfway through because I couldn't stop laughing. When we finally told him that we were just messing with him, he gave us the old "Oh, I knew that" routine. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuure, dude.

Haha. That also reminds me of the time where I had to move out of the house 'cause Mom gave the papers to the bank. The windows were still covered up in plastic because of the winter, and Kim found a black marker, and proceeded to write goat propaganda all over the plastic. Things like "Have you sacrificed today?" and "Fear the goat!" and "You shall worship the Lord thy Goat or he shall rain goaty death upon you!" I still have pictures of that somewhere.

No wonder people think I'm crazy.

Jae wrote recently that she was more into older music than anything today. Something along that line. I’m finding myself doing the same thing. I mean, there’s modern music that I like, but I find myself gravitating toward older stuff more. For example, I like a lot of U2’s music, but I’m really of the opinion that 80’s U2 is the best. Actually, I’m really into 80’s music right now. Probably my favorite song is ‘Always Something There To Remind Me’ by Naked Eyes.

I think this is in part because most modern music is insipid. Ooooh I don’t think I’ve ever used that word in an entry. I’m all impressed with myself now. Anyway, yeah, insipid. Vapid. Meaningless. You’ve got a dude on a guitar, a dude on drums, and a guy talking his way through the song – which doesn’t even make sense – sounding like he’s stoned. Just because it’s popular doesn’t mean it’s good. ‘Cause most of the time it isn’t.

There was a time where musical talent of some kind was required to be a successful singer/musician/band/whatever. Not anymore! Now all you need is sex appeal, bam! instant popularity.

I was going to rant about how the only reason Lady Gaga’s popular is because she was a stripper, but I actually think she has a neat voice, so I can’t really go there. Don’t laugh at me. I can’t help it.

For me, there are four qualifications for whether I like music or not. They are as follows:

1 – The lead vocalist must have a great and/or interesting voice.
2 – The lyrics must be meaningful.
3 – The group/artist must sound interesting, neat, and/or different than whatever else is out there.
4 – The music must be phenomenal.

One of these doesn’t make up for the lack of the other three. I can deal with two out of four, but the best artists have three or four. Most artists today only have one, or two at best – and most of the time, #2 isn’t included. I mean seriously. “I can ride my bike with no handlebars… no handlebars… no handlebars.” Well good for you. Now that you have a hit song, maybe you can afford a bike with handlebars, eh?

Well, if I were the arbiter of good music, there’d be a lot fewer artists saturating the airwaves. It’s probably a good thing I’m not.

Back to insipid. We went over to David Beattie’s house Saturday night and hung out with him, his dad, and his (girl?)friend Christina, who introduced us to Speed Scrabble. For those of you not familiar with this fabulous game, you play it with one other person. Each person takes ten random Scrabble tiles, turn them over at the same time, and proceed to use all ten to make words. Once all ten are used, by either player, both players take another five, whether the other person’s used all of theirs or not. This continues until one or the other of the players has used all their tiles and there are no more to take.

Christina and David demonstrated. Christina won. We had decided that the winner would play the next person… which was me.

I won. Then Sandy challenged me. I won. Then Dave challenged me. I won. Then David challenged me. I won. Then Christina challenged me again. I won. Mind you, it was really close a couple of times, within a matter of a second or two… but I still won. It was pretty cool, and a lot of fun, but I’m not too optimistic about people continuing to play against me. They could take the approach of, let’s keep trying till we knock her off her throne, but they could take the Cartwright approach of, let’s not even try.

Meh. My N key doesn’t work properly. I guess it’s not the end of the world, just a little annoying. I’ll live.

Oh. I bet you’re wondering what Speed Scrabble has to do with the word ‘insipid’. Well, nothing really. Just that big/uncommon words remind me of word games, since ‘insipid’ would have brought me like seventy points if I played it in one turn in Scrabble. That is all.

We’ve been burning wood in the fireplace when it gets cold, and we’ve been getting wood from the park. This has a point, I promise. The log is making funny noises. It’s like there’s a squirrel somehow trapped inside the log. I’m serious. There are little scratchy chewy noises coming from the log. But here’s the thing. There’s nothing in there. There can’t be. How could a squirrel survive a tree growing around it, and continue to survive to gnaw its way out?

Besides, the other log that was doing this we’ve since burned, and – here’s a shock – there was nothing in it. I know, it’s ghost squirrels! We’re haunted now. Oh good. Well, I guess if nothing else I have a interesting story now.

So I finished Le Miserables, and have started The Red Badge of Courage. Oh yeah, I’m reading the classics. Well, at least the ones that don’t bore me to tears. The Red Badge of Courage is trying. Le Miserables was pretty good, if a little sad. The Count of Monte Cristo was way better than the movie. The Three Musketeers was…meh, okay. Hmmmm. Frankenstein was… probably terrifying for its time, but I found it dry and kind of boring. I didn’t finish it. I tried, mind you, I just couldn’t make myself do so. Okay, commence the hate mail, “wtf how could you not like Frankenstein it’s a classic!!111!!!eleventy!!!!shiftone!” Whatever, dude.

Dave’s boss is driving me freaking crazy, and I don’t eve have to work with him, so imagine how Dave feels. I was trying to think of a masculine equivalent to calling someone ‘Nagatha’, and all I came up with was ‘Nagamemnon’. As far as I can tell, Nagamemnon is more than willing to try to make Dave do everyone else’s job, and then bitch him out over stupid piddly little crap. Because clearly it’s all Dave’s fault. It just inflames my sense of fairness and treating people with equity. I mean, even if all the stupid piddly crap were Dave’s fault – which it’s not – it’s not right to bitch people out about it. Far less than to make him do everyone else’s job as well as two or three of his own, especially when the architect on one of these jobs is a raving lunatic.

…Okay, I’ve never seen her rave. Okay, so she’s not even a raving lunatic. She’s just a spaz. A control-freak, ultra-detail-oriented spaz. Not to mention the homeowner, who I think I can call a raving lunatic and not be exaggerating by very much. Without going into a lot of detail, Dave has bent over backwards for these people for months (seriously, I started hearing about this job at least back in March), and every aspect of it has been a total freaking nightmare (up to and including phone call upon phone call while we were in Tahoe. Hey Stacy, how about you go on vacation and I’ll call you about stupid piddly crap two or three times every day of your vacation, would you enjoy that? No? Huh, what do you know.)

…Yeah, I might be sort of done here.
bouldersandbrews: (Default)
So the last week has been delightful and blissful. I could go through a daily play-by-play type thing. There's ultimately no point, though - we hung out all day and most of the night, then David would drive me home and we'd spend an hour in the car in my driveway saying goodnight, and I'd manage to catch about six hours of sleep before it'd be time to go again - whether briefly to work or over to Jason and Melanie's with David.

We talked. We drove around. We played games. We watched movies. We held each other. We talked some more. I would rather have done that than done anything else, with anyone else.

And now I'm wondering how on earth I seriously thought that a long distance relationship would be a good idea. I'm in agony here - David's on the plane leaving, going three thousand miles away, and I'm sitting here in front of the computer, seriously expecting him to pull into the driveway any second - just because that's how the last week has gone. How did I think this could work? I don't understand my thought processes at that point, seriously.

I won't break up with him. I love him far too much to do anything retarded like that - and it's a ridiculous notion anyways.

He can't move out here - Hayden and Lindsay are pretty much out in San Diego permanently, and David won't leave them.

That leaves one option. It sounds so insane on the surface - am I even seriously considering this? But I am. I'm 75-80% decided already, as a matter of fact. When I go out to visit him next month, I'm sure my decision will be made by then, or at least during.

It sounds like I've taken total leave of my senses and any common sense I may have once retained...I've thought this through and see it as my only option. Well, I could just, you know, stay out here, and like have David visit once a month, and yes what a smart idea, go through this agony all the freaking time, because that sounds like delightful fun NOT.

In other words, that's a gay idea, screw it.

Besides, it's not like I have a reason to stay in New York. Since my rent's being raised so high I might as well be getting kicked out.

I don't know. I feel like no matter what I say I'm to be judged "irresponsible" or something for this. Well...I'd like to say I don't care, but I do. I just don't care enough to let it influence me.


bouldersandbrews: (Default)
Boulders And Brews

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