Situation still BALLS. Still cannot face not being listened to about this. Still in voluntary exile. Still feel like shit about it, and it is seeping outward like poison and making me more sensitive to everything else. This means pretty much entirely innocent parties getting a face full of fuck off at times which then capsize them.
I would pay a great deal of money to at least not have to feel anything, since "resolving this SHIT" is not an option.
The really infuriating part (and I am p. much constantly angry at the moment) is that because the stress is making me crazy, all of my legitimate concerns re: friend are now liable to be dismissed as "you are crazy". FFS.
Oh and the plan for writing execrable erotica and flinging it onto Kindle under a pseudonym has hit a speedbump in that I am refusing to mangle historical accuracy as badly as it was when I thought it up and it turns out that the primacy of Venice as a centre for trade had kind of entirely vanished by the time America got its cotton-picking act together (literally) and why is this even relevant to a bonkfest? IT JUST IS, OKAY.
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100 Works of Art: (Visual) Portrait of a Young Man by Sandro Botticelli Poetry
The Inevitable Shrivelling of the Human Soul