I'm Thinking Clogs...

Whippy's been going through a bit of a rough patch, lately. And by "rough patch," I mean "excuse me while I lobotomize myself with a Crazy Straw." You're welcome for sparing you the details; suffice it to say, life has been more fun than a barrel full of dead babies. And by "more," I mean "hella less." Let's just say life is full of crazy f*ckers who sometimes ooze into your life and won't leave until they think they've made you as miserable as they are. Just...WOW.

I'm a pick-myself-up-by-the-bootstraps kinda gal; I hate whining and inaction. In fact, I can usually think, plan and work myself out of most mucky situations.

One of my boots may have fallen off in the muck. They were old boots, just about worn through. I wore 'em every day, even though they always hurt and made me walk kinda funny. I'm tempted to just slip my foot out of the other boot. Pretty sure it'd be easier to get out of the muck with 'em both off. And really, what's the point of holding on to one boot?