The dog just puked bile on the floor and I stumble over to let him out before too much damage has been done to the house. I look around at the clutter – the half-folded laundry, unopened mail, and basic signs of too much to do with too little time. Life is too short to worry about a perfect house. That’s been my theory – but I could use a little more order.
It’s more sleep deprivation for me. I’m sitting on 2 hours of sleep – if even that much. I’ve always said that I was born with bags under my eyes – it’s a genetic gift from my Guamanian ancestry. I’m afraid to look into the mirror to see just how much more excess baggage has manifested.
Memories of rough times in the past years floods my mind. It seems that as I get older, there is more and more stuff to deal with. It kind of sucks – getting old. I will be strong.
Now, I need to make myself a bit more presentable so that I can fake being “okay” and be the pillar of strength that I must portray.