This really sexy thing I do.

This really sexy thing I do.

There’s this really sexy thing I do. In the face of the shitty, the screwy, the just plain suck. I introvert.

Now, if you have had the pleasure of ever being graced with my presence, I’m a complete sort of an attention whore.

I must be the life of the party, the funny one, the you name it in the name of making a spectacle of oneself (not testicles, keep it straight, I don’t want to go losing you to a scrotum joke). I guess sometimes I bomb the moment and, in turn, become a testicle but we’re not hear to rain anymore on my parade. A’ight?! <—punctuation overload

Lately, I’d rather spend the entire day consumed by my bed covers, safe in Snoozertonville, locked away with my emotionally destructive self. I’ve been crippled by the realities of, well, the real world. The kicker with all of this less-than-tasty-shellfish business? The real world is being relatively good to me.

Yeah, big things coming with a big driving force, a happy, healthy three year old, a relationship with literally my other half, Husfriend, the OG, diving into our fifth year of mush and gush and pranks and goofs, general awesomenicity…but I’m pits. Hard.

So this sexy thing I do when this crazy mind of mine decides to nosh on a massive crap sandwich? Wall-building, anti-personal, engrossment. I dive and dig and bury myself in work, writing, being an asshole.

If you see me ‘round and I am less than pleasant or extra un-PC, smile and nod, this too will pass.

Now I’m watching Justin Bieber on the Grammys and feel a fever coming on…