The poorest President in the world

I know I know I've been MIA recently, and I'd love to say it's for some exotic reason, that I'm living out all of my whimsical gypsy dreams in a glorified luggage compartment headed for Udaipur, India at 2.30am (sounds much more glamorous than the reality). But really, I have been scalding my fingers on cutlery straight out of the dishwasher at work, picking uneaten bacon off of customers' plates and saving it for dogs that I like, singing the same line over and over and over into my computer only to dump the stupid thing altogether, and driving home at 1am crying real tears at this. Literally like the real 'oh no I am two decades old and I have so many things to do before the next two decades and I'm running out of time' weeping that happens in movies but is never, ever as glamorous as it is on screen, in real life.

you're the only friend i need
sharing beds like little kids 
we'll laugh until our ribs get sore
but that will never be enough.