2018, like many years before it, pretty much sucked ass. I got more kidney stones over Thanksgiving, 5 years since I had them last, and likely because my doc changed up my meds and put me on Wellbutrin, which, as far as I can tell, is the PCP of antidepressants. I don't think he wanted to hear me complain about being fat for one more session, so he thought we'd try bath salts, I guess. Not only did it make me about 75% insaner than I already was, but it gave me (or brought out my) kidney stones and put me in the hospital for 3 days. I didn't go down to a pier in Florida and eat anyone's face off though, mercifully, but the hospital stay wasn't pleasant for me or anyone else who had to deal with me projectile voming in the hall while tethered to an IV of morphine.
I became a cat mother over the 4th of July, which I do enjoy. Yoda is a good friend and fur companion. He just needs to learn to use the toilet and refrain from going apeshit in the springs under my bed at 5:00 in the morning every morning.
I also dropped my laptop from a lofty surface this year, reducing the touchscreen to deadly shards of glass. So, recently pulled my desktop out from under the IKEA end table I had so intelligently stored it under and hooked it back up. I write this missive to you from it in the corner of my house by the drafty-ass window in December.
I don't remember much else of the year aside from continuously fucking up my hair royally and making very poor dietary choices.
I'm trying to drink more water because according to science, I'm made from it mostly. I think my veins may actually run seafoam green with Mountain Dew Baja Blast (available exclusively at Taco Bell and Colleen's body) but trying to change that in 2019.
Wish me luck.