Suicidal Sundays

You can't buy an embroidery hoop at 10:30 pm on a Sunday night in Minnesota. And thanks to the early Colonial Blue Laws you can't buy alcohol either. Stupid pilgrims.



So here I sit, sober and craftless, looking through old bank statements out of boredom while my kittens stare out the window of my boyfriends apartment. I wish I could be so easily entertained. As long as the sliding glass door is open, the little furballs will sit in front of the screen for hours just staring and sniffing. I can't even stare at a television screen for that long.


Today is day one of my diet. It's less of a diet and more of a 'stop eating so much unhealthy shit' plan. And apparently water is good for you. Who knew? So I'm drinking more of that, eating less fat, and hating my existence when I drive past the Dairy Queen.