I wonder if I have enough time to write here, I don’t really think I do, but my brain is fuzzy and so I don’t think I could effectively do anything else anyway.

I feel like my stomach is being suspended over a rushing river of acid, I suppose like it’s inside out. Some splashing, a fine burning mist all over my insides. My heart squeezes, like one would squeeze a heart during an emergency procedure when no other jumpstarting possibilities area available, or if the ribcage is already open. Do people realize how hard the heart pumps? It’s not gentle. It has to push hard enough to get blood all the way to your feet, after all.

Whoever squeezed my heart, they have nails today. Maybe it was me, with my gorgeous nails.

Slowing myself down a bit, I can see how I’m using the boy as a distraction. I have real fear, and as I have recently rendered him irrelevant to my life, I should really focus on my actual problems. I actually cringed at a song tag because I was scared what it would link to in the history of the page. And then I wandered off in thought because apparently this is harder to face than I thought.

Why, am I secretly hungry or something? I’m halfway through my coffee.

One eye open and fuzzy from supplement aided sleep, I still write more coherently than most people who actually try. The boy wrote me the worst love letter ever, it was truly pathetic. He was probably upset when he wrote it, I should give him a break. He’s always fucking upset about something. He said he was sorry he had a problem opening up, and I’m just thinking wow, that’s not the problem at all. I really have heard quite enough about you, have you considered maybe opening up a little less actually? Yes, a lot less would be ideal.

The problem is that you’re utterly miserable to be around, you hate everything, you pick fights over nothing, you’re massively insecure about everything, you’re ignorant and selfish, in bed and everywhere else, you’re mentally a wreck and can’t even get it together to cook dinner for me, you don’t eat pussy and yes you do in fact have a small dick.

I notice that I still speak about him in the present tense though. I feel like I’ve been hit with a giant wave, on my right side though, interestingly. When you’re (this is how I use second tense pronoun) out in deep water, and a wave comes at you that you will not withstand, and you go under the water to let it wash over you but you’re just a little slow and you can feel it rushing over your head. The pressure feels gentle, but you know that it is in fact this strength that has crushed so many strong rocks into all the sand in the world. The pull back, as the almost insubstantial air rakes back the ocean’s surface to create another wave. This is the feeling inside my eye orbit today, the blind eye actually. I should probably call my doctor.

The pain on the left signifies anger at a man. What of pain on the right? I guess he wasn’t a man after all.

My coffee’s done, I successfully used him as an excuse to not talk about this job interview I have in an hour.

I really want this job and I’m scared as fuck.