Well. That was that, wasn't it. Complete and total meltdown. In the car. Outside the fucking bastards I fucking HATE you bank. And Jeff got to see it all. Ugh.

You know, people, dear dear people who I tell many things to, I have actually really and truly been attempting to let go of my money worries. Alas. When some little bump in the road comes round, like $70 worth of charges on a $30 insufficient funds thingamabob I get defeated. Why didn't I close that fucking account when I stopped using it six fucking months ago? Anyone? Ugh ugh ugh. I ain't got the money. Never have, never will.

Jeff was awful good. He saw the meltdown, the white knuckled grip on the door, the buried head, and, oh yes! the hiccoughing sobbing pathetic mushpile of babyness that is me stressed out and panicking. And he drove me to a park and he let me be, let me lose it, let me smoke cigarettes in peace. And he was totally cool and not at all dragged down into the pit of despair, godblesshim, and then, after I had my pity party, he helped me think of things and he cracked jokes and was generally speaking quite ridiculously awesome, as he is wont to be. I got possibilities which I want to check into. I need to make MO MONEY. And I mean to. So yeah. Anyway.

I am much happier now after our almost three hour lunch. Thank you lord jesus for one jeffrey dean. He's a good boy.

Look at me! I post many times in one day!