Abigail M. Schilling

It's 11:24 pm at my house right now and I'm the only one awake, unless you count Patrick. And Patrick's only awake in that he leans over from his nap every once in a while to ask me why we're in the living room and not in our bedroom. He also keeps asking me why there is a boy sleeping on the couch even though it's a weekday.

Patrick, there is a couch-guest because sometimes we drink too much even if it's not the weekend. Like if we're celebrating the Christmas season or the end of the semester or the hour-long episode of The Office. Patrick, I don't know if you were watching but Jim gave a very good speech about rebounds. See, it turns out that Jim is just rebounding from our break-up; he'll come back to me.

And if you wondering about Kathy well then I have this to say: me too. She left a million hours ago for her work Christmas party and I'm not particularly sure what they are celebrating that could actually take this long. I swear the the Wise Men didn't even take this long to follow the star to Egypt. I'm so concerned, Patrick, because I want to know how our candies went over at the party. The candies we spent last night spinning into pure confection? The candies that prompted me to spend my lunch break spray painting.

Sometimes I wonder who is really living deep down inside of me and then other times it's pretty clear when I'm hanging out in the backyard skillfully spray painting boxes I'd made from poster board to showcase candies.

And look! I wrote a whole post with complaining about things like the fact that my artist/lover is actually a woman. Dammit. On to the next.