"she was wincing like something brittle / trying hard to bend."

My mother called me yesterday because she and my father are concerned about me, that I seem to be getting sadder, I’m reminding her of when I was “zombie-like” and over-medicated in the late 90s. And part of me is alarmed by my parents noticing, because to me that means that I’m getting really fucking obvious. And part of me doesn’t care, I’m getting from noon to midnight and then midnight to noon over and over again. I make lists, I force a cheerful tone, and I don’t think I’ve sobbed myself sick from emotional or physical pain in like ten whole days.

It’s possible I’m wearing down, wearing out. It's possible that once again, I've lost most of my perspective and am forgetting the good days. Summer makes me think of Asshat (and I’m angry at myself for skittering right over last summer, which should remind me of T, but doesn’t.) I wonder about the difference between “I can’t” and “I won’t” and how I present these statements to myself, and how I understand they from others, and how some of my blind furies have sprung from people presenting I can’t as what appears to be an excuse to not say “I won’t”

Fate, free will. Over and over again. Seeing what I don’t have writ larger than what I do have. Bad poetry days, indeed.

But I made a really, really good chocolate cake and tomorrow, we go to Journeyman for Light's birthday. there are currently four kinds of cereal in the house, and I've gotten all my piercings put back in. (next I think is a rook, but not for a bit yet, there's still Chile's tattoo to get). I can almost bathe myself, Skin and Grin living here is awesome, and my doggie has running dreams and oh, the twitching.

"she was wincing like something brittle / trying hard to bend."

My mother called me yesterday because she and my father are concerned about me, that I seem to be getting sadder, I’m reminding her of when I was “zombie-like” and over-medicated in the late 90s. And part of me is alarmed by my parents noticing, because to me that means that I’m getting really fucking obvious. And part of me doesn’t care, I’m getting from noon to midnight and then midnight to noon over and over again. I make lists, I force a cheerful tone, and I don’t think I’ve sobbed myself sick from emotional or physical pain in like ten whole days.

It’s possible I’m wearing down, wearing out. It's possible that once again, I've lost most of my perspective and am forgetting the good days. Summer makes me think of Asshat (and I’m angry at myself for skittering right over last summer, which should remind me of T, but doesn’t.) I wonder about the difference between “I can’t” and “I won’t” and how I present these statements to myself, and how I understand they from others, and how some of my blind furies have sprung from people presenting I can’t as what appears to be an excuse to not say “I won’t”

Fate, free will. Over and over again. Seeing what I don’t have writ larger than what I do have. Bad poetry days, indeed.

But I made a really, really good chocolate cake and tomorrow, we go to Journeyman for Light's birthday. there are currently four kinds of cereal in the house, and I've gotten all my piercings put back in. (next I think is a rook, but not for a bit yet, there's still Chile's tattoo to get). I can almost bathe myself, Skin and Grin living here is awesome, and my doggie has running dreams and oh, the twitching.