It's another Saturday night, and I'm reduced to inter-blogging, crocheting, drinking apple-banana Juicy Juice, and watching Antiques Roadshow with my boyfriend.

With this aspect of my life, I'm pleased.

An update:

I still work a management position at a crappy retail fabric store for crappy pay. I still don't have life figured out, but here's where I stand: I'm pregnant--which is totally putting a damper on my alcoholism. The baby's father is a total jerk-off. I have a great boyfriend who is standing up and taking the role of "dad." For this I am thankful. That said, this is the lonliest place I've ever been.

I move a bit down the road (and then some) to an apartment that has income restrictions. At twenty-three I never anticipated that this was where I'd be in life. It's a constant fight to exist happily (at the risk of sounding melodramatic). I just never thought I'd be here.

I guess I really don't have it together, or at least not as much as I thought I did.

The hope of the situation is that I will make it and hopefully be a stronger person because of this. I'm embracing the motherhood bit. I'm embracing the deliciousness of peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches.

I haven't written in months, and it's not likely to change soon. This doesn't upset me as much as I assume it should.

I'm cutting this short as melodrama is sure to ensue. I hope all are doing well in mind, body, and writer's spirit.

Somebody, drink a fuckin single malt scotch in my name.