I wonder if I'm bleeding on this chair. I'm in a short dress with no panties sitting on a chair at the bar - writing in blood. The bar keep thinks I'm classy. That's what he said. Then he thanked me for laughing at his joke. He's cute. My clock doesn't recognize him. He's not a danger. My danger is at home waiting for pizza with love and longing in his eyes for the first time in way too long. I'm at the bar trying to find the words that will unlock my heart and set me free. The words are stuck deep down in my throat and its not as sexy as it could be. There is nothing sexy about what I have to do. May there is. Honesty is sexy. I think it can be anyway. I need this to go well. it's going to feel like its coming out of left field. I think that's a baseball reference, that's not me. This is a fucked way to spend my last week in my 30's. A mother fuckin double-headed hate must while contemplating the breaking of my family! Happy birthday baby! Thanks Ivy! best day ever. Adulthood here I come. Fuck - it hurts and feels so fucking right. I hate this. I love this. This hates me. This loves me. It's all happening. It's all fucked up. It's almost over. I'm almost ready. It's coming. I'm coming. I pray and I pray and I pray.