Charles Manson levels of crazy.

Sometimes I think I might be going crazy. Not Charles Manson sort of crazy but the fun kind. Sort of like Michael Scott levels of crazy (you know, from The Office?). Maybe that's not crazy, that's quirky. And awkward. So awkward. Alright, so nothing like Michael Scott but also nothing like Charles Manson. The point is, even if I'm a little bit crazy my dog is way more crazy. I feel I haven't used the word crazy enough. Here it is really little crazy. Now here it's huge. Crazy. This is moderately small. Crazy. And this is larger. Crazy. Oh dear, I went on a tangent again. Stupid tangents, distracting me mid blog. I'm just going to write the conversation and be done with it.


Me: do you want to sit on my bed?

Kimmy: yes please.

Me: *helps Kimmy on the bed*

Kimmy: *sits on my lap*

Me: well that's not ideal is it. I can't study like this, maybe you should move over here *gently nudges her further away*

Kimmy: *sees herself in mirror* OH MY GOD, WHO IS THAT?!

Me: um.. who?

Kimmy: HER! LOOK! OMG! OVER THERE! LOOOOOOK!

Me: oh... that's you.

Kimmy: no way, look she's wearing a dress.

Me: I don't have time for this. It's you Kimmy.

Kimmy: GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! YOU'RE NOT WELCOME HERE *loud noises coming from her mouth*

Me: Please shut up.

Kimmy: LEAVE! GET OUT! *breaks out into 'Leave' by Jojo*

Me: *gets off bed, turns the mirror around*

Kimmy: good, she's gone. I hate that girl.

Me: Me too. *resumes studying*

Kimmy sporting a very retro dress.