Drained

Boy, do I feel tired today. We are just over half way to freedom and my tank is empty. I can hardly think straight. My uncle wanted me to have a beer with him and the family tonight but I didn’t know how to tell him how crappy I felt. I’m down there dripping off the kegerator and I’m literally not sure how I’m going to make it home. I’ve been having more temperature regulation problems today too. At this exact moment, with more than 4 hours of daylight life in the day, I’m hiding in bed. I may not stay here, but I definitely needed to come here for a while. 

I have two more days to go. Looks like D & D is off this week. Boo. My Friday will be spent down at the beach house, which I am really looking forward to. That is, if I recover enough strength to make that happen. I think I will. I have been busting my ass for about three weeks straight, and maybe today’s 17,000 plus steps pushed me over the threshold. I broken. 

I want to play a few games with Will tonight; it’s one of the few things in my life that consistently brings me happiness. I also want to listen to the game on the radio as my evening winds down. Win or lose, listening to the call of the game has always been one of my favorite summertime activities. The way they describe the situations, and the jargon of serious baseball veterans make it like being part of a secret club, or even deciphering encrypted transmissions. People who don’t know the game would interpret the call as gibberish. “What did he say? What does that mean?” I mean, I think baseball is fucking lame, corrupt and unfair. Don’t misconstrue my enthusiasm for a blindness to the faults of this sport. However, the nostalgia and effect the call has on me are fundamentally undeniable.  I can both hate and love baseball without picking a side. 

So maybe tonight will be a lightly eventful evening. I’m hoping to hear back from Carly about when a good time to hang out again would be. Complete 180 from where my anxiety had me going earlier this week. She read my blog too! Even all than anxious ranting I was doing. Just goes to show you: anxiety isn’t often right. 

You know, I’m really being hard on myself keeping an eighth of weed in my nightstand drawer. I smell it every time I lay down here. Yet, it makes it no less likely that I will smoke some. In fact, my uncle offered me one today, and I turned him down. It was right there in front of me blog, and I said no. Graduation, bitches! Temptation is null and now it’s 100% on my schedule when things are going to happen. 

Eventful week ahead for me still, hopefully my tank gets above 1/4 before Friday gets here. 

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