It's been raining balls for weeks, and I'm glad I'm not homeless. I'm in a cute little half-of-a-house decorated to my liking with sugar skulls and flowers and candles up the ass. The roof is new and it doesn't leak and there are no longer opposums in my attic burrowing down into my bedroom.
I have a couple friends that tell me not to kill myself every so often. I have a loving fiance that puts up with me even when I overdose on uppers after being catatonic on downers. I have a dad that just bought me a grandslam and hot chocolate at Denny's.
I have a secure job, even though I sit in proximity to a wailing, cackling Banshee of a woman. I get paid every month and it keeps the oppsomless roof over my head.
I have a reliable little Toyota that doesn't shit out on me even though I treat it like a rolling trash-can.
I have not drank booze in three years next month, and my scars from drunken gravel angeling in the parking lot at then-job Tower Records are nearly invisible now.
I've lost 5 pounds with the help of public shaming on My Fitness Pal from my brother and his fiance. (God and everyone sees when I eat an enormous peanut butter cookie for breakfast).
I have trouble getting arsed to do laundry sometimes, but at least I have a functioning washer now (also courtesey Dad) when I do.
I'm not the prettiest you've ever seen, but I have my moments.