It’s Not Right, But It’s OK.

It appears that there is an inverse relationship between the number of my co-workers who are aware of my unhealthy infatuation with John Cusack, and the amount of time I spend indulging said infatuation.

They point out the age difference, the creep factor, and the overall lack of a life that I have. I then point out the fact that I don’t care. However, deep down I realize that my addiction to John is just filling a weird emotional void left by months of heightened anxiety and depressive-type thoughts, a recent lack of social interaction with males my own age, and my new-found libido (thanks, Viibryd! (not.)) But I’m sure I’ll look back on this time with mostly fond memories and only just a pinch of regret.

In other more embarrassing news, my doctor says that despite how much I want to point fingers, the Viibryd is not to blame for my sudden lactose intolerance. Yeah fucking right. Let the investigations begin…


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