The weekend went by as all the others are wont to do. There were brunches, mimosas, picture-perfect Miami weather without a cloud in the sky, a rental convertible, milkshakes, and such good food I could die mixed in with a few bars and nightclubs. There was also gentlemen of the attractive kind interested in my whereabouts and my company, along with the realization I am so utterly bored of everything I could cry. Has that ever happened to you? You are somewhere, doing the things that are advertised in movies and glossy magazines as "living the life" and suddenly you look around at the beautiful people around you and the drink in your hand and it's like, What the fuck am I doing here?
I'm guessing this is how incredibly rich people feel at twenty-two or movie stars who take up drugs because they don't know what else to do -*cough, Lindsay Lohan*- but in spite of sounding like an ungrateful bitch I am just sick of all the things. Maybe this is something everyone goes through but nobody talks about as they post their little "life is perfect" pictures on Facebook and cry silently on the inside. Maybe it's just me being too honest but that's an ailment y'all already knew I suffered from so there's no surprise factor there. I can only assume this is a rite of passage into adulthood or something but it's as if nothing piques my interest anymore.
(Except maybe cupcakes and movies about terrorism. Those things are always quite interesting to me.)
I'm not clinically depressed or anything, guys, so no need to worry. You won't find me on the news jumping off a cliff or anything any time soon. It's just a matter of transitions, I guess. Now what it is I am transitioning to is yet to be determined.
In the meantime, there is one thing that makes me deliriously happy and not bored at all, and that's how amazingly well Rebecca is coming along (if you all remember her, that is).
Life is sweet,