😭

 

she's 💯 right

omg painpainpainpainpainpain 😭 

fuck.

puckering like a butthole, filling itself in from below, thinking about festering, exploding in white hot complaint with every alchohol sanitizing pour over. I have done this to multiple fingers (TJ, aka Correct Opinions, calls it "the mandolin manuever"), over the years, at times like these, when it feels as if I have (do have) a deep existential groin cyst (I wonder what ever happened w that?) that's wantin-poppin - I am in constant pain / fed up with the boredom of pain. for my pistol permit, they were sooo irritated w the fingerprint reader thing, unable to vouch for half my damn fingers ("you a chef professor?"🤨). if this were a murder mystery = heavy handed foreshadowing. I am in fucking physical agony right now (walgreens, cvs, and amazon all failed to ease my pain with lidocain and second skin and anti stick gauze IS NOT A REAL THING). and bored with being in pain, too. life can't be boring, it's too short. life is painful, pain gets boring. 
see what I mean? 

so I read a very long book about a Bored To Death (Almost!!) man. stage 4 tetris. *abruptly fired* / unstable unhappy loved-ones network, post-mid-breakup-divorce (intimacy tossed salad, not in a good way), you get the idea. 

sitting shiva, in my way

great book. super funny. almost nothing "happens" (just pain) so that what does emerge from that can be foregrounded. 

what I find almost unbearably sad (thud) is that I know (trust) everybody on my 💔 list is Aliving out there somehow. but they're all not mine enough to share how they're doing it (holding on) = on my own to figure it out without comic relief.

so. maybe I do the mandolin on purpose unconsciously. "throbbing" feels like an apt description of what I am doing, been doing, finger or not. tiny sharply painful identity obliterations.