I see a bad moon arising.
Yesterday, I quit smoking, started working out and changed wedding plans again (Score: Indecisiveness).
Thats like the most well balanced, evenest trifecta of Jules change, ever.
My lungs pretty much felt like they were clawing their way out of my chest after the gym. Little Alien babies, hatched and looking to sing show tunes in a top hat. Then the headache started as the pain shot its way through my sinus cavity into my skull. Last night in the shower, I pretty much assumed I would also not make it through the night, a blood clot swirling through my brains, eventually turning into a T-Rex shaped acid ball and eating me from the inside out.
Cause thats how it happens, kiddies, take yer fukin' Asprin.
We made plans for my funeral, the burden of responsibility lying on my soon to be widowed fiance of coming up with a super cool scavenger hunt since I dropped the ball on finishing my own. Like you hadn't assumed. Either.
But then *SHAZAM* I remembered I will never die and I control the weather, so I made it storm real hard, we giggled, fucked and fell asleep. FTW!
This. This is how the terminally manic get nothing accomplished.
There's a bad moon on the rise.