If You're An Artist

I'd thought about texting Tim before I crashed to let him know I'd be late, but he usually just calls me, so I figured that would be my cue to wake up. I woke up to the sound of my door sliding open and the pitter patter of little feet instead. Pupple was very excited to see me. I offered to take him out, but Tim had just walked him. Suits me fine. I made him some coffee and he munched on pretzels. In addition to the obvious calorie and financial savings of avoiding booze, I also snack less. I played my new song and Gregory Alan Isakov for him, and eventually went looking for something else. I scrolled past some of my dance videos, which he requested to watch. Even watching them was a reminder that I go 100% in every rehearsal and that I wish I was as thin as when I thought I was fat. I resolved to fix my living room so I can move the couch and perform. It'll be desperately needed exercise and an emotional and artistic outlet.

Tim rummaged around and cooked up some potatoes, chiding me to eat more than soy curls (which still did not show up, btw) and chuckling resignedly that the pan hadn't been used since TGTG. I did take Pupple out then, and since Tim still had a broken leg, I let him run and sniff as long as he wanted. Pupple, not Tim. Since I hate walking, Tim actually started to worry something had happened because we were going so long. Sam showed up not long after because he had a pair of overalls that were just a little too small for him. I said I'd try them on and he ran to grab them. Tim was going to take off, but given my exhaustion, I asked him to wait until Sam got back because that would ensure I could get to bed. Boundaries are something I'm working on, and I really didn't want to have that struggle today.