God save me.
Rather, let the bottle of italian red save me... have a feeling this will be a nice liquid dinner, if you know what I mean.
Screw this holiday shit. I just want to be off on vacation already, asleep on a plane to dull the pain away and finally be with Vegas. The next three seasons will be the death of me, if this keeps up. Eternal waits and pauses between lover's visits. Gaaah! *throws up hands in despair*
If my mood had an image?
Yeeeah, that's it. Me against the rammed-up time monkey.
He can well fuck off!