I have wanted to tell everyone I have come into contact with lately to go to hell, enjoy the trip, and don’t bother sending a postcard. No reason, nothing anyone has done, I’m just feeling particularly crabby. I could come across a living saint at this point and I’d have to bite my tongue. So I am going to go huddle in a corner with a plate of Irish Cream Truffle Fudge and not think about anything in particular. Bleh.
where wildly different is perfectly normal