I’ve officially reached the point at which I cannot tell which day, or what kind of day, it is. Several times today I’ve thought it was a weekday, then remembered it’s Sunday. Several times. I can’t even keep track within a single day.
The unsupported use case of Bix Frankonis’ disordered, surplus, mediocre midlife in St. Johns, Oregon.
Read the current manifesto. (And the followup.)
Rules: no fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.
I’ve officially reached the point at which I cannot tell which day, or what kind of day, it is. Several times today I’ve thought it was a weekday, then remembered it’s Sunday. Several times. I can’t even keep track within a single day.