Before I confess this, promise you won't kill me?
Starting today, I'm home alone for the next week.
Mom: Can you do me a favor, AnoMALIE?
Me: What? I'm not going to record your fucking novelas if that's what you want...
Mom: Can you PLEASE not post it on Facebook that you're going to be home alone for the next week?
Me: Mom! I'm not D! I don't post my shit on-line... as long as blogger doesn't count... but I trust my readers aren't going to sneak into my house and murder me... I hope. Right, guys? Though... at this point, I kind of wouldn't even mind if I got murdered.
The folks are once again hitting up Cancun with my Dad's brother's family... and I stayed home because Tyson was still alive when my folks made the reservations. I was staying behind because someone had to take care of the fella. It was too late for me to be added to the reservations once Tyson died.
SO... I'm home alone now.
While my parents left worried-- because I'm once again on suicide watch after being "suspiciously quiet/serious" the last two days-- I am pretty fucking chirpy. I've been dancing and singing all morning.
I don't know what the fuck that's all about, but I sense it's mainly because I always do well when alone. It's much easier for me to relax and be my true self when the outside matches the inside... as in, when I'm as alone in the building as I am in my heart.
It's all good when I'm left to fend for myself-- I fucking flourish. I suspect that's how all misanthropes do... unless they go off and do stupid violent shit so many of them go off and do... those psychopaths.
So... yeah, I'm good. I'm eerily chirpy, to the point where even I'm irritated with myself.