15 Minutes of Shame

I’m here, I did mill about for a while before coming here, so it doesn’t feel as natural. I’m also running late for something that I want to do, and expecting a package. I also received an important email, fairly good news although I still feel one finger and the edge of a nail tracing down the outside of my trachea as I remember that no, it’s not all over yet.

I’ve been mourning my relationship, not the boy really, and mourning for myself. I’m really still not over my first ex. I was speaking to a friend (who I should call) who said the same thing about hers, a woman. That she has been in several relationships, but still never able to find the same spark as the first one. I feel the same, however I would say more than a spark (I obviously have been extremely attracted to each of my men) I have not been able to find the same hope and drive. That feeling that whatever happens we’ll be together, and we’re going to make something happen.

It occurs to me that the scraping feeling on my trachea might be coming from the pills I swallowed this morning.

It’s stupid to hide something from myself, so here we go. I had a job interview on Friday, and I think it might have gone well. I enjoyed my conversation with the man, although I really must fix up the lighting around here so that I can present better. I want to buy another house. I want to buy the house that I keep dreaming about, the house that is back on the market as of my last dream, and was just reduced as of last night, when I was forlornly swiping Hinge and wondering what the fuck was going to become of my life.

I want to call and look at the house. I want to call the boy and ask him to look at the house with me.

My coffee is done

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