I knew going into this week of my life that it was going to be exceptionally emotional and rough. This is my last week working the job that I love. The parents told the kids last night and when I walked through the door this morning, they were all sobbing and begging me to stay. I cried, because of course I did, but I'm hoping I can sludge through these emotions gradually so that by the time I get to Friday, my final departing moment will be a little easier than I've been envisioning.

To deal with all of this, Lindsay and I grabbed a quick lunch yesterday (it wasn't quick at all; she locked her keys in her car and we went on an hour-long excursion to find her spare) which involved a 45 ounce margarita at the "Mexican" restaurant down the street. By the time I got home, I was so drunk (it was an accident. It crept up on me like a scary booze-ghost) that at 11 PM, after a nap, when I realized Three Men and a Baby was not on Netflix, was not going to be on Netflix, and I’d probably have to rent it if I wanted to see it any time soon, I cried for about 15 minutes. Hysterically. And I kept saying things like “But… I LOVE Ted Danson. And I LOVE Steve Guttenberg. And I LOVE Tom Selleck.” I was taking it very personally.  It was RIDICULOUS, to say the least.

So yeah, that’s what I do in my private time.

I’m 26. Time to start reeling it in on the crying over Steve Guttenberg shit.