This is a Cursed Year but I have a blanket.
The majority of social media is fucking impassable at the moment, which makes for a lonely time, especially when Jess responds to most attempts at conversation by asking what the hell is wrong with me or by snapping (apparently nothing is the matter, she's just very short on time and would prefer to spend that she has on Drag Race and drawing rather than some obnoxious venture like Bonding with her dickhead of a boyfriend, which is fair. We did go for dinner at Kervan Sofrasi the other night - it took an argument and a half to make it happen, but it happened, and we managed a civilised conversation, so it can still be done. I think). I'm balancing "abject dislike of being stuck in a silent house with no way to interact with people except by going into the hellstorm that is Twitter etc" vs "abject dislike of aimlessly going out into the hellish cold where I also can't interact with anyone because no one else is going out for any reason" and also my brain doing its seasonal thing of trying to convince me that I've never had any friends and everyone hates me, which is... not accurate. I just feel weird about talking and think I've forgotten how to have a conversation, despite having had one like, on Wednesday, where no one got murdered.
Brain helpfully composes poems like "When there is no dry land / learning to swim / is prolonging the inevitable"; I feel oddly self-conscious about going to a cafe or pub to read alone in the evenings when it is dark and cold but not when it is warm? Apparently dark outside = you should be in bed. Which is fine, but I shouldn't be, although currently I am because the electric blanket OWNS MY ENTIRE SOUL.
Couple of non-shit points:
1. The book my boyfriend got me for my birthday is good and entertaining.
2. The period of no t-shirts is over because I've figured out how to put them on and take them off without doing my chest a mischief
3. Hit and exceeded 70k
4. Lucian sent me a couple of private messages about what to expect from chest healing which are surprisingly positive regarding whether or not I'm going to need more surgery to fix a bunch of stuff (probably not since things will settle over the coming year) and a recommendation for a steroid cream to help dispense with the redness of the scars, plus more reassurance that Yes The Fluid Will Dissipate. Which is good as the whole thing continues to be painful and annoying.
5. Lindsay sent me a video of piglets having a bath
6. Will Ospreay (Disgusting Bird Child/wrestler 10 years my junior for whom I have a foul boner) told an AMA on Reddit that he wants to do a show/match in a gay bar as he continues to be Very Aware of his fanbase.
7. The Bullshit will probably not last forever, even if it does kill me.
I mean.
My brain did also wake me up in the middle of the night specifically so that I could find out that the man who taught me how to be a poet and how to have a heart and how effectively to speak has died, at the more respectable age of 82, leaving behind him 50 years of music and the knowledge that someone more or less being murdered constantly by depression can survive that long and even come out the other side towards the end.
Brain helpfully composes poems like "When there is no dry land / learning to swim / is prolonging the inevitable"; I feel oddly self-conscious about going to a cafe or pub to read alone in the evenings when it is dark and cold but not when it is warm? Apparently dark outside = you should be in bed. Which is fine, but I shouldn't be, although currently I am because the electric blanket OWNS MY ENTIRE SOUL.
Couple of non-shit points:
1. The book my boyfriend got me for my birthday is good and entertaining.
2. The period of no t-shirts is over because I've figured out how to put them on and take them off without doing my chest a mischief
3. Hit and exceeded 70k
4. Lucian sent me a couple of private messages about what to expect from chest healing which are surprisingly positive regarding whether or not I'm going to need more surgery to fix a bunch of stuff (probably not since things will settle over the coming year) and a recommendation for a steroid cream to help dispense with the redness of the scars, plus more reassurance that Yes The Fluid Will Dissipate. Which is good as the whole thing continues to be painful and annoying.
5. Lindsay sent me a video of piglets having a bath
6. Will Ospreay (Disgusting Bird Child/wrestler 10 years my junior for whom I have a foul boner) told an AMA on Reddit that he wants to do a show/match in a gay bar as he continues to be Very Aware of his fanbase.
7. The Bullshit will probably not last forever, even if it does kill me.
I mean.
My brain did also wake me up in the middle of the night specifically so that I could find out that the man who taught me how to be a poet and how to have a heart and how effectively to speak has died, at the more respectable age of 82, leaving behind him 50 years of music and the knowledge that someone more or less being murdered constantly by depression can survive that long and even come out the other side towards the end.