I was complaining about cheese burritoes and all and now I am... suffering.
It's been almost 3 weeks. One day to a full three weeks.
Classic therapist cue: "Now how does that make you feel?"
I don't know, I really don't fucking know now seeing how we're basically at the end of everything and all the nice fuzzy memories fade and depression slaps my ass another umptienth time or what.
I could argue about a cheese burrito and a man only to stop eating said double cheese burrito and cut off the man (out of pain, out of a collapse really. Nothing points to it but I swear, I still love him and that seems like the biggest pathology of the century)
How are you kid? Do you still cry at night?
Didn't I just said I don't know? When everything fades out to a subtle ache and even...grief? Wrath even. (Subtle wrath is one horrible of a combination of words) It just makes you feel not good. The best word I can come up with is "not good", I'm sorry. There nothing much left to do than drown. I drown. But I swear to god I tried.
I tried going to my job, I tried going to school, went to the school field to blow a bamboo and just...die a little inside hopeful that I'd be revived but as we know margles never comes back.
I try so hard to not turn spiteful and jealous become the most disgusting abomination of a human on earth but day and night god just tests my patience.
I had a horrible bout of stomach flu, followed by literally an uncompletable amount of assignments on top of having my period and the breakup (if that considers itself as one). I was basically being jesus and being crucified as jesus.
It was basically a whole round of sprinting through bureaucratic work (my passport), academic suffering, being a corporate slave, being fucking heartbroken.
Where is my little cheese bacon burrito dog? soft dog? doggo where are you