Florida. Modest Mouse wrote a song about it, old people flock here to die, and my husband and I work long hours in the service industry to appease those who have left the cold and dingy to be here, with the palm trees and sand. It's starting to grate on the both of us. We're trying to find a a way to be out from under this mortgage in five years. Ambitious, but doable.
I bought a gym membership and gave myself a deadline to be fit by. Travis has lost thirty pounds in six months. I've stayed the same, and my disappointment and self-disgust is evident in everything I do and do not. I need to improve my body like I've been improving my mind.
My job has been its usual hypocritical bullshit. I received some great advice to treat other people being disrespectful as a competition: if they get under my skin, they win. It works magnificently.
My son is finally figuring out how to hold a bottle. He tries to pull himself up, and enjoys table food. He has a temper unmatched, and I am working on teaching him better behavior.
I don't mean to sound so pretentious. I need to be more personable.
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