anahat nad

This week has led to two conclusions.

ONE: I do not look good in red plaid.

and TWO: No matter how much I am certain, full to the brim with conviction, it's unlikely that a random encounter with Shia LaBeouf will make him fall to his feet in awe, take my hand in his, and proclaim me as his own.

Just a feeling, I'll say.

I've also come to realize that I am tired of hearing my own voice.

'Bailey, why are you chasing the squirrels? Stop rolling in the dirt. Grass is not food! I TOLD YOU NO, THE RABBITS ARE FRIENDS!'

'Yes, Mom, I will start answering my phone, and returning calls, and listening to not just deleting your voicemails. No really, Mom, it's my PHONE that's the problem, it's just on silent the service out here... Horrendous.'

'It's not that I forgot our plans, per say, I just ... something came up.. uh, you see, my dog, that thing, doctor visit, cough cough, hello, can you hear me, so much static....?'

To rectify, I took a vow of silence.
That lasted until I stubbed my toe on the refrigerator and a resounding 'GODDAMMNIITT' flew out of my mouth before my left hand could clamp over it tightly enough.

I'll mention here how unrewarding and fruitless it is to fight with an inanimate object. Stubbed toe = fridge 1, Renu, 0.


I'm sitting here skirting the big issues life has thrown my way, and focusing instead on the unimportant, minute details of daily life, and I'm okay with that.

For now, it's all I've got.