Coffee, Interrupted.

I did a little better today, I’m glad for the improvement but I know that weekends wreck everything. My brother refuses to alter his sleep schedule for weekends anymore, he says that it simply not worth it. Maybe he’s right, as a matter of fact I know he’s right.

Honestly, my sleep schedule shouldn’t be too hard to maintain for the weekend… I don’t know what my problem is, but I would simply like to not have a problem so I won’t bother naming it.

So many interruptions… enough to make me want to bail. I answered a phone call (omg, more doctors), looked at my schedule, answered an email, and mentally composed others I had to write, thought about work, and thought about other texts I have to return, and yes, more emails to write.

This morning, while smoking the last 3rd of a cigarette left over from last night, I thought of a great shower thought to put on my Hinge profile –

Trees are forced to sit and watch their fallen comrades rot and decay on the ground next to them for hundreds of years. How are the psychologically dealing with this.

Not for nothing but I’m pretty proud of my dating app profiles, even though I have never really gotten any use out of any of them.

It’s too late to do the things I was going to do today… good thing I ran the essential errands last night.

I feel like a deflated balloon today. Like I’m giving up on something, like I’m surrendering to something. Probably work. Probably just work, it’s always just work. And the fact that I woke up too late to do anything that I want to do, although that is certainly not true. As I reinflate, I realize that it was kind of nice to have the pressure off for a minute, just a minute ago, when I wasn’t trying to do anything. Now I feel the catches, like a balloon trying to inflate amidst a tangle of tree branches. Or more accurately, like my lungs trying to inflate amidst broken and bent ribs.

My coffee has been cold, I wonder what happened.

Last night, the boy told me that there’s some things he hasn’t even gone into in therapy. I’m bewildered by this, why not try and get your money’s worth? Why hide in a place that you forcibly put yourself in for the purpose of exposing yourself? It’s like those people who go to swing clubs and just watch <=== me, for various reasons, mostly because I really don’t even want to be there anyway but I have to look like I do. But they’re paying me, I’m not paying them.

I mean I’m writing here for free.

I can’t believe in being pompous enough to think someone actually cares about my bullshit enough to judge it. Is that what it’s like being a white man?

If I ran right now, I could make something of the day. I’m not going to, at least not that particular something. There’s enough other somethings around here.

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