"vigil"

3 options, 1) tired (how is he NOT so tired that the SUGAR of booze is propping him up energywise more than the %proof is treating his anxiety?) 2) fine (which means his normal self, but without that sugar = utterly exhausted, even his organs, his sphincter, his everything just bone exhausted) 3) an animal 🤔

We are all animals; ones kept in the conditions he's been keeping would render any animal tired nearly to death. Nearly. Adverbs, like shamelessness, are underrated! So my parasympathetic math is 1+2+3=1

This part, it's not the fun part either. It's another hard part that will take more than a minute to take your body and mind back. I know. I asked for the song again but Alexa played this instead, TWICE. It took more than a minute to come undone. I've learned patience works more efficiently than punching myself down also while step-taking out of abysses.

And. Welp, I wouldn't have anticipated our little 🫂 story to be taking this turn right now, so much so that I can't help it: it makes me happy and seems painfully/playfully funny. Like dude, I figured at some point it might come up that the reason we end up in bed so much is because we just kinda love the shit outa each other, but I figured that could just be a weird me thing (ok with it!) plus we'd be busy rediscovering the upsides of being in bodies (ie you'd think with your dick). We can't even say lust drove us to it 🤭💞. Turns out we were too shitty-feeling and buried alive for that, so we invented Aspirational Lust for Life from time-mortared loves. A very specific brew.

By what you're doing, room is being made in our universes for Good and Beautiful (without asking Ma, I can assure you, Lust is a color without which you see worse, like a possum or whatever, you "don't even know") It's downright romantic in a certain light.

Our shared-parallel tomorrow. Day 1. It feels like another hurdle twat-threat type deal. And we are each gonna clear it somehow. Apx 9 am - 9 pm. Your withdrawal process. You changed the tires and arranged childcare, exactly the kinda shit needs done. My workday, teaching "Dying: How To" by Dr. Patricia Abbott at a late day picnic to which I am bringing the girliest rainbowishyest sprinkle glitter cupcakes I can find. #shameless

Lecture notes re "lowest of the low"

"The best part, though, is the work we do in words. The palliative specialist serves as a sort of illness interpreter, bringing the jargon of clinical medicine into the life and language of the patient who is living the experience." Our Long Marvelous Dying, A Novel, Anna Deforest, MD.

The way you talk to yourself right now is hateful bullshit that alcohol is. It is a liar. And needing anything at all (ie kids omg needing them will totally killya) can/could lead you to dark places. Human = the lowest of the low potentially at any point. And you shouldn't think that you are superhuman like a douchey doctor. It's not good for you or, ultimately, your patients. Who, as you know, are at their low not "the" anything but at a moment, a hard one. Another, usually.

Another example: "fighting cancer" all that pink ribbon bullshit just makes people who are dying feel like failed fucking warriors. Which shortens their lives and lowers quality of that time dramatically. And I can prove it. Stop talking that way. 👁 

Note - I used to say shit like that everywhichway, and bigger platforms for a while. But. I can't focus attention that way. Not like I want to.