the feeling of being unproductive. my new apartment not quite feeling like home, my paintings being washed away after 2 days of exploration, unhung mirrors, unframed art, and a dart board that cant seem to stay on the wall. And lets not forget the sour moods that my dear todd (that he does not deserve) has endured as of recent, and then there's the couple of pounds that have crept on me, and finally, having moments of inadequacies at work. Everyone has their insecurities, so I don't dwell on mine. They are no more or less than any other persons, but I have them and mine are all i know.
I can "play" happy really well, because in the end, i wouldn't give my life up for anyone elses. i love my life and the people in it, but its hard work being happy all the time. todd asks "where is my happy susy, you haven't told me a susy story today". he says this when he sees a slight blank look on my face. he knows my eyes will brighten at telling a random, irrelevant story.
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