Holy poop, it's hot outside.
It's September 24th, officially a few days into fall or autumn or equinox if you're crunchy like that, and the mercury is hovering right around the century mark here in La-La Land. Unacceptable. As I've said before, gays are like roses; we wilt in the heat. I have a bit of a perspiration issue even in the cold months, but with this heat wave I'm currently keeping Gold Bond in business.
Scrotal references aside, it's been a good week. It's actually been a good few weeks, which is awesome because August was sort of a cluster-fuckery of ups and downs. But currently no friend or family member is in crisis. I'm eating right, sticking with the 30 Day Shred (hard. as. fuck.) and am down about five pounds accordingly. Bills are paid, dishes are done, and work has been noticeably less irritating, downgrading my frustration level to orange, or "only somewhat likely to stab out own eyes." The good times are on a roll.
Part of me wants to prepare for the other shoe to drop. Nothing ever stays good or bad for too long, and I'm an old hat at prepping for disaster mode. But I can't think that way. Might as well enjoy while enjoyment can be had. I just feel like I'm in one of those old Cialis commercials, where Bob walks around with his big assisted erection and the chipmunks dance and the flowers sing everyone is so hap-hap-happy you get type II diabetes just from being in the vicinity. Which isn't a bad thing. But after two years of mostly struggle, it's weird to be back in the black, so to speak.