The mouse cursor wanders aimlessly across the computer screen, just as clueless of where it is going as the hand moving it through. I'm filing for taking my driver's license first thing in the morning. There is that thing from people in Rio I need to get started. There's that essay I need to hand in around two months ago. The appointment with the orthopedist I forgot to take. And the dentist I didn't schedule.
Oh yeah, gym.
Nutritionist.
Pedicure. Pedicure. Yeah, pedicure.
Money.
Sister.
Watch.
Coke.
Bread.
Ham.
Did I pay my bills? Dunno, hence don't think so.
And you, unexistent reader, probably web-stuck into the same fucking semi-existing petty issues you never saw coming, do you ever ask yourself why?
Cause I'm asking. Of course I'm worried sick about the stuff I shouldn' t be worried about.
But I'm asking.
I'm fucking Bree Van de Kamp
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