So (I don’t know why I started with so, that’s unlike me)(I think) I didn’t take melatonin last night, even though I should have since I slept late anyway. Hopefully I’ve learned that lesson for once, if not not for all. I should take the melatonin because no matter what, I will wake up late and tired, so I might as well try and do the right thing by my brain.

My brain! I have many things to do, as always. I can’t be too mad at myself, I have done something. Unfortunately, I’m slipping into my old habits, the old ways of life that got me to the place where I broke under anesthesia, broke the anesthesia itself several times, and broke the entire fake plastic shell I had been living in for so many years.

I don’t know if I can take Bjork today, but I want to try because I think it’s her birthday.

It’s the boy’s birthday too… I’m coming to terms, thank god finally, with the fact that no one will read this, and I can finally talk freely.

And so I rolled the cursor over to the side bar and let things pop up over there for a few minutes, for far too long. Coming to terms… that insinuates, just as my behavior proves, that I’m still in the process.

Anyway… I’m noticing that the paragraphs are so short today, there’s a lot going on, but in reality it all looks like false starts. That is actually how I’ve been feeling lately. I’ve been managing to get scraps of work done here and there, I can plan and envision, but I can never really get going. Something stops me. Do I stop myself?

I can identify a problem.

I can feel (and I am getting into using the I pronoun so I think that wow, I started off worse than I thought this morning, and now I’m uncomfortable with what’s going on, but I’ve at least gotten to a point where I can try and break though, hopefully there is enough coffee. I instinctively just checked) a hesitation behind my fingers. I know this feel. <=== I wrote feel instead of feelings, ended with a period, and wrote a song tag, so it sticks.

I know this feeling. A constant second guessing, and uncomfortable lag between my thoughts and actions like the annoying wait between call and response in an automatic transmission that could easily equal death in a panic situation and definitely means that you have to shovel out your car on a snowy morning instead of using the tires themselves to push the snow out of their own way. I think I might be becoming similarly lame, similarly altered, hobbled, the “upgrade” that is actually such a fucking downgrade and takes all of the fun out of driving.

It’s the boy. I’m unnecessarily accusatory. I think that’s why I picked him up, so that it couldn’t be all my fault. I mean, I had to work to get the sex as good as it is, and honestly, he’s got a long way to go when it comes to technique. I should be using all this excellent time away from my actual boyfriend to better myself, and instead I ave picked up someone who is even more selfish.

As fucking always, I remember my ex, who I actually do have to deal with, and should have dealt with yesterday, or Saturday, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in the boy. Why am I so wrapped up in the boy? He’s miserable, and he’s selfish. Depression makes you an asshole, I guess.

Or, maybe we can all stop and consider this for one second, you’re depressed because you’re an asshole.

I said it. and I think it’s true. I know we’re not supposed victim blame or anything, but let me just say I have been fucking breaking my back, literally, ignoring everything, spending so much money, losing so much money compromising my family’s safety for fuck’s safe, just to make sure that this boy can have fun every weekend, and half the time all he does is complain about everything, and obsess about his goddamn self for 60% (80%?) of the time. He isn’t even good at eating pussy.

But never mind, here I go wiping everything off of my to-do list to make reservations for a hot tub suite during a fucking plague and racing around to every store to buy him the costume I thought of at the last minute to go out West while there is a great man who loves me and listened to my lame excuse about “Halloween is going to be lame this year anyway, don’t bother coming to visit” which I’m pretty sure he knows is bullshit but he has to stay home and take care of someone sick anyway.

Why is Spotify so intent on playing Thom Yorke every 10 seconds. How on fire is his keyword game. I guess all those artists that are “cross-genre” (wow, I’m using an excessive amount of quotations today) finally have the upper hand in algorithmic playlist generators.

I thought of keywords an I scrolled back. I have to go back to school, I have to get my life together. I just fucking left school ffs.

I was talking with a wonderful friend earlier this weekend, who I should call (I just thought of many people I should be calling, and somehow Thom Yorke is still playing), and the subject of a networking thing and one of my advisors came up. I mentioned her school affiliation (Ivy of course, plus the other game in town) and I could almost forcibly feel the boy’s shoulders squeeze into each other, and saw his chin fall in toward his chest, his eyes just almost looking at his own inadequate genitals or something. I could literally feel him fold up. He radiates a warmth that I can feel without looking and that’s why I love him.

However, I absolutely hate the fact that he is so fucking fragile. I need to find a place where I am allowed to break.

I suddenly want to call my side dude, who is perfect except for the fact that I guess I don’t want perfect.

Somehow there’s still more coffee here, my mind is racing to all of the things I have to do, I know I don’t have time to see all the people that matter in my life because once again I’ve put them all off to go waste my time watching the boy ruminate over his own anxiety, too shallow to even qualify as existential, instead of doing anything that could actually mean something with mine.

I mean if it’s going to be like that, I should have just kept letting my ex destroy me.

I just feel bad breaking up with him now, because it’s his birthday.

This is how all my relationships start, with me feeling too guilty to break up with them.

When will I learn.

I wonder if they’d ever feel guilty about anything that has to do with me. There’s an awful lot.