X Marks The Spot, She bitterly mused.
“Tomorrow” She promises herself.
She is Over IT!
She hates Mondays.
She is the Lemon-Lime-Liar.
She is guilty of the crime.
Damn, the Lemon-Lime.
She is an alien in her kitchen.
She was tired of “The Incident”.
She cooked a feast.
I forgot my fight the other night. I reduced myself to a sobbing, bumbling mess of a woman I don’t like.
Originally posted on Carrots in My Carryon:
My eyes slowly open. It’s brighter out than usual. I must have slept in. The blinds are closed, but a foggy, soft light peeks into the room through the small slits. I roll over and squint at the clock. A red 7:37 confirms for me that today is…