from the kitchen counter...

The kitchen counter is marble, or fake marble, or shit. I don't know.

I know that I am sitting on it. I know that I am drinking some Jameson. Its not my first.

I have spent different parts of the last few hours cleaning this kitchen. My company has been singular, minus a sponge, a broom, a pseudo-broom.

There is recently a new couch in our kitchen. I am organizing my clean laundry on it. I have made this kitchen my own.

Both middle knuckles on my hands have gotten really red over the last couple of days.

The strange part is I haven't wanted to hit anyone in a week or two.

Strange.

I'm lonely lately.

It is my own fault.

But not because of what the 3 people who read this think it is.

It is because I am lame.

Sorry.

Better blogs soon, I promise.

Or you can come kill me.