Don Draper

I can't figure out if I want to fuck him, or be him.
So that's a conundrum.
Five day weekends are nice. Michael and I went to the gym this afternoon and basically draped ourselves over the machinery with exhaustion. It was definitely a non-stop weekend.
The other day, as I was watching "Mad Men" in my pajamas for an embarrassingly long amount of time because I was hungover? I was also kind of happy. I never sit still. It was nice to just sit still. In the place where I (supposedly) live.
My place looked like a bomb hit it the other day (today is negligibly better) and I was kind of like: I'd rather have clothes and dishes and bikes and helmets and concert pamphlets and empty wine glasses and books and magazines and bed covers strewn about than not.
As much as I bitch and complain (which is a lot), I do have a rather fulfilling and exciting life on the go.
Who knew?