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"Repeating myself I keep on yesterday"
Nov. 12th, 2020 10:30 pmI've been sick for the past couple days. No fever, no loss of smell or taste, no real difficulty breathing, but my throat hurts and I'm congested and I have a lovely painful cough. I'm doing a drive-up covid test tomorrow, and hopefully not actually going to ruin Feast Day. And while we're actually pretty careful, it's still possible that I've got covid and I'll find out in a couple days.
I've been alternating between being freaked out, being unconscious and consuming these soft-core porn het hockey romance novels at a clip of a couple a day (checks my list, have read 10 Kelly Jamieson novels in the past four days), which are both occasionally problematic and full of safe sex and feelings.
One of the side effects of losing my ability to parse the passing of time is that I really have fallen down on staying in touch with anyone, and then I feel guilty, so I continue not to say anything to anyone, even if I miss them. I bought myself some delightful winter cards, maybe I'll declare my own social bankruptcy and reach out?
I bore myself with being awkward and prickly, but don't seem to have another mode of operating. I'd like to not care, or be better at not caring? Be better at being outside even though I'm not really especially outside or inside because that's a reductionist view of elaborate social structures and I can't actually know how I'm observed because I'm not doing the observing and/or there isn't a single narrative to determine that kind of thing? You know, something like that.
I've been alternating between being freaked out, being unconscious and consuming these soft-core porn het hockey romance novels at a clip of a couple a day (checks my list, have read 10 Kelly Jamieson novels in the past four days), which are both occasionally problematic and full of safe sex and feelings.
One of the side effects of losing my ability to parse the passing of time is that I really have fallen down on staying in touch with anyone, and then I feel guilty, so I continue not to say anything to anyone, even if I miss them. I bought myself some delightful winter cards, maybe I'll declare my own social bankruptcy and reach out?
I bore myself with being awkward and prickly, but don't seem to have another mode of operating. I'd like to not care, or be better at not caring? Be better at being outside even though I'm not really especially outside or inside because that's a reductionist view of elaborate social structures and I can't actually know how I'm observed because I'm not doing the observing and/or there isn't a single narrative to determine that kind of thing? You know, something like that.
