Oh my gosh, you guys. I am monumentally tired. Epically tired. Historically tired.
RIP, Merritt Butrick.
But yeah, I'm freaking tired.
I feel as if I spent the entire day in the car. To the storage unit. Load the car. To the apartment. Unload the car. Drive Precocious Daughter to her social engagements. Drive to the house to check on the dog.
Did I mention that my house went under contract last weekend, but the buyers backed out because people who believe a 40-year-old house should produce a completely clean inspection report shouldn't be allowed to breed, let alone purchase real estate, so now my house is back on the market and I have to find ways to not be there while it's being shown, which is a total pain in the ass?
Guys, I'm just tired. I want to sell my damn house. I want to finalize my damn divorce. I want to pay off my damn debts.
None of this is going to happen tonight, so maybe I should just concentrate on getting a good night's sleep.
Good night, Drunkards.
Don't let the bedbugs bite.
Or it might end up on the next home inspection report, for fuck's sake.