Tonight it sucks.
Sorry, it stinks. Smells like a rotten egg. The odor coming from this evening/night is absolutely unbearable.
I'm writing addresses on invitations. I'm only hoping that when those receiving these invitations actually touch the envelope that they won't actually feel the awful feelings I'm enduring as I write their house numbers and street names.
I would be more explicit in my emotions, but an easily viewed blog is not the place to be so bold. I'm learning that censorship in my verbal and written words is good for me and for the people around me. My journal, though, is fair game. Only my eyes can read the raw emotions I'm feeling and my eyes alone, and that is an amazing feeling. Once I'm done with this batch of names, I'll probably hole myself up in my room, listen to some indie acoustic music (i.e. The Decemberists) and try to remind myself that I should be ecstatic since my life seems to finally be going down an amazing path full of film school, a new job, and marriage.
But happy people are allowed to be sad sometimes, right?