I’ve officially reached the point at which I cannot tell which day, or what kind of day, it is. Several times today I’ve thought it was a weekday, then remembered it’s Sunday. Several times. I can’t even keep track within a single day.
The unsupported use case of Bix Frankonis’ disordered, surplus, mediocre midlife in St. Johns, Oregon.
No fear, no hate, no thoughtless bullshit, and no nazis.
Read the current manifesto. (And the followup.)
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I’ve officially reached the point at which I cannot tell which day, or what kind of day, it is. Several times today I’ve thought it was a weekday, then remembered it’s Sunday. Several times. I can’t even keep track within a single day.