Man I've cried tablespoons in the last hour.
Cups in the last few days.
Pints this week.
What the hell is wrong with me. . . ?
I know I'm not pregnant.
I must need to bake a chocolate cake, have 7 orgasms, sniff violets, write a letter to my mom, dance like it's a new thing, and dye my hair. If that doesn't work, I might be employing Winona Ryder to write my suicide letter.
Cups in the last few days.
Pints this week.
What the hell is wrong with me. . . ?
I know I'm not pregnant.
I must need to bake a chocolate cake, have 7 orgasms, sniff violets, write a letter to my mom, dance like it's a new thing, and dye my hair. If that doesn't work, I might be employing Winona Ryder to write my suicide letter.
but all of those suggestions sound lovely.
And we sub-contract to numerous paid professional suicide note writers.