I’m screwing things up again.
But, perhaps, and so bold that I put a preposition at the beginning of my sentence rather than just the fake assertive I pronoun, it was a setup.
I just got up, and had some energy, quite a bit for so early in my coffee, so maybe I can save this.
I need a high-def streaming service that specializes in electronica. Spotify doesn’t even have rights to play most of my actual favorites, and when I play old stuff it sounds like banging a pot full of ripped of tin foil with a a cat in the background.
I love my family. But they are fundamentally fucked up, they all are. It happens, so am I.
I should have known it was too god to be true, that anyone would like me or care about me without an ulterior motive, even my family. Long Pause. Let’s be honest (all of us lol) and acknowledge that I rarely do either.
The sentence sounded better right off my finger tips, but my phone buzzed with a message from exactly who was on my mind, as always (and not because it’s always him) and I’m struggling not to answer.
I never asked him to help me move, I never asked him for help with anything. He volunteered, but for some reason I feel like it’s not sincere. Pity, maybe, my shoulders pinch together as I say that as I can tell that I’m afraid that that’s true. He thinks I’m crazy, and I am, and it’s time to go back to the only life I could find where that was worth tons and tons of money so that no one pities me anymore.
Pretty much immediately. I don’t think that my family cares if I die. I know what the right thing to do is, it’s always like this. I know what the right thing to do is, and in the end I will have been right, but I will have changed my mind because everyone else, who in the end turns out to be wrong, will tell me that I’m being ridiculous.
OMG, he’s on his way over.