I could say that. Or, considering that 12 hours from now I’ll be happily cruising down the Mass Pike towards Southie I’ll say instead, “F it. I’m going to Boston.”
This has been a very peculiar day. Things have been unremittingly crappy until I got to work. That bothers me. If I ever start thinking of my stripey-beige hell as a comfort zone I’ll need to be: A) heavily medicated B) shot.
Before I go I’ve got a list for you. Just to be different, though, I’m putting it in its own entry. So there.