Holy shit. Sharp Objects is fucking. me. up.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, HBO picked up the option on the book written by Gillian Flynn (Gone Girl). I never read the book, but I did read Gone Girl and that fucked me up, too. Her lead characters are complicated, fucked up, flawed women, and Sharp Objects is largely focused on the mother-daughter relationship and barely surviving it.
Sick parents, love-starved children, self-annihilating behavior, reckless, broken adults. Fuuuuuck.
I went ahead and Googled the ending of the book because there was no way I could sit through the finale when it comes out without knowing what the fuck happens and it’s about as chilling as I thought. But it was more than that. The emotional sickness seeps out of the story and right into me. I feel restless and sad. So so sad. So then I popped on Frasier to cleanse the mental palate and here we are.
I probably should have just written instead, but oh well. I’m exhausted from an intense week of work and men. I’ve accidentally had 3 dates, which was not my plan. I see Peter tomorrow then give a second chance to my Tuesday night date who pissed me off. Saw an ex-lover last night for what I thought was just an innocent friend thing, but at the end of the night he threw himself at me in a fit of despair from missing his girlfriend and before that I met a lovely man with chiseled abs for a drink. We plan on seeing each other for fun and frolic when he gets back from vacation. The sad ex-lover will remain just that: an ex-lover.
Tonight I’ll be in bed by 11 and will take some CBD oil and turmeric for my pain and cuddle my body pillow and my dog. Being grown up is exhausting. Just ask our sweet Sandy.
Back in June she discovered she tested positive for the BRCA1 gene and she’s begun the arduous process of taking precautionary measures including considering voluntary prophylactic mastectomy. This week she had her ovaries removed. Please send her all the love and positive vibes you can. We love you, Sandy!!
Love you guys.
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