I live prepared for the worst. As I breathe, inhale (brace for it) exhale (accept it). Probably always have by half, and it has been incurable since Trainwreck. It is my brainchemical reality. How did FPH put it? "Injuries don't just fade in midlife." So weirdly, I feel kinda FINE right now, like in synch for a change with the world, which is now also feeling dread and like staying home.
Somewhere, Train is cleaning his guns, chain/sneak smoking, feeling right with the world also, in emergencymode. He perfected my tuning to harmonize with catastrophe, though my response is RETREAT versus put the sirens on. I'd be packing large lunches for him if we were together now, while at work his adrenal glands would be confusing his brains for his balls, him bonding with some co-worker broad in the heat of crisis. I hope his kid(s) are healthy. But also, I hope Whitegirlrapper bitches him out and is best friends with his mother ft lets her own mother be camped on his couch constantly - gigglegiggle - just thinking that the world is coughing on him while he tries to be all EMT-y about it and she's ladling boring-harpy like existential-gravy all over him gives me the giggles. C'mon, that's fair. And funny.
Meanwhile, Nebraska is blessedly in Nebraska. He was supposed to fly here, but No. Then he wanted to drive, NO. Finally I have to say: I wanted the world to stop. And now it has.
I am going to curl up here in my girlcave. Lacking only for a song.
it's like everyone with my genetics is singing the praises of staying home w stockpiled pasta
