I am fighting with a dress.
I can't make the waistline work.
Occasionally, I have those Ally McBeal moments where I'm in a completely normal situation and I imagine something vivid and usually violent. Like today, there was a fist fight in my brain. No details, but I didn't win the fight. But my opponent got the shit kicked out of them. So I'll be working on my right hook and trying to keep the heinous anxiety dreams at bay, all while I fight to the death with my newest sewing project and get a new job.
to quote Shute, "Use a wooden stake just to be sure."
summation: I thought we were all adults around here. There is elevator music in Erin land.
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