And it appears that selling my house for market value would be about as useful as that rain-soaked grease-smudged half-torn-to-shreds sneaker you see lying in the center of the highway. Time to move to plan B. Plan B will hopefully get me the hell out of this house soon.

The summer dream is to sell the house, put everything in storage, and live for near-free for two months in Florida. This plan falls apart at the seams however... in fact, it has no seams. It's seamless and so am I. The point here being that I'm in a very pissy mood.

Plus, my site seems to be having all sorts of dilemas and I need to throw a paper airplane Lauren's way but I keep forgetting.

If anyone knows how to fix the inkspot that is my life, please contact me immediately.

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