Seasons Greetings

Dearest blog readers, I will no longer be attempting to disguise the truly pitiful state of my life. Read at your own discretion.

 As the New Year approaches, Darla and I are transitioning into a new stage of our lives. Darla is working on becoming an alcoholic while I will be leaving her to it and moving back to Indiana. We are two black holes trying to coexist, but science can tell you that such coexistence is impossible. There are only two possible outcomes when two black holes approach each other: 1) the two black holes merge, forming a supermassive blackhole, which will suck in the entire universe, ending humanity and life as we know it or 2) one black hole will repel the other and it will careen off in a different direction. Only the second possibility has been documented, and Darla and I are no exception. Our lives have become so dismal that we are currently sitting at a McDonald’s in order to use the internet to pay some of our past due bills (we can’t afford to pay them all) and rewrite essays which professors deemed unacceptable.

This Christmas was truly a spectacle worthy of an A&E reality television show. Darla and I had originally planned to have a pancake brunch, see The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, and enjoy a delicious dinner. Instead we just nommed on our dinner food all day and watched pirated movies on the internet because we couldn’t afford to go to the movies and didn’t have the necessary ingredients to make pancakes or a portion of the food we had planned to make for dinner. Late Christmas evening we realized how impoverished we had become and departed for bed quite depressed.

The day after Christmas our internet was shut off because we haven’t paid the bill for many moons.  Darla received demoralizing news on both her academic and relationship fronts. Later she tried to reach out to a family member but only succeeded in contacting a man named Johnny, who was very confused about why she was texting him. The next day, Darla watered the gardens at Marylhurst with her tears.

On Saturday, I spent the day in bed, attempting to overcome a frightful illness. This illness made its first appearance on Friday, December 20^th, as a cough but rapidly deteriorated into something that has on more than one occasion been suggested to be pneumonia. On two of the three occasions I rose from my bed I found Banjo had shat on the living room floor. I knew that the following day would be my last day at work. (Yeah, I don't have a job anymore.) As I surveyed my shit-covered life, I made a decision. I would accept the help my family had repeatedly offered: I would fly away home.

So now, Darla and I have one week left together in this hellhole. Then Darla will be left to rot alone. I am so sorry, Darla.

I can't blame these people for thinking I am on drugs and/or homeless. 

Prettiest Roommate Award