Just spent a good thirty minutes talking myself out of buying this absurdly impractical backpack and matching foam sword, both of which are on sale now
this is how I'll die someday, but in the meantime, I am the reigning champion of the game of chicken
this must be what mourning veils were for. You can just sit around all day with a miserable look on your face and no one can tell.
I mean the grief is getting better, I'm through the worst of it and I'm gonna be okay. but fuck, man, pretending to be happy at work is exhausting
the chrissy teigen of tooting.