(breathe)
that vomitty revulsion aphasia thing
another example, right now
fb chatter says it's somebody's grandson, rescue angencies adamant everyone stay away
private thread, IGNORE IT! all theyre talking about is the raffle sales for the booze, for real. they won't even post the emergency advisories on their website cz some vague sense that EMTs are ....what? ON YOUR LAWN??
what the fuck is wrong with you
I dont want to pretend to be outside that, whatever that is
in the face of it I feel 🤮 and wordless and visceral recoil and go wordless. slo mo stunned. stood there like a fencepost lalala
Ears says, of moments like these, change the channel. so I quick, try to think of something else. And then I realize how much my finger hurts and I don't wanna unwrap this fucker then I think it would be kinda funny if I died of finger sepsis by bagel. Only kinda, though.
my life is this long road trip. I thought I was doing okay. Things felt pretty good. Job, wife, future. And then it was like someone changed the script on me. Changed where I lived and who I lived with and what the future looked like. This new script was crap. I had a very bad part in this script. I was cast as middle-aged lonely guy. I don’t want that role. But here I am. And I feel like somewhere along the drive I passed a marker, a signpost, a spot along the road. I didn’t notice the spot. It was a nothing spot. But once I passed it, I crossed into the second part of my life, the part where youth and a fair bit of possibility are in the rearview mirror. And this voice, this person who told me about the signpost, I ask him where it’s all gone, and he says, Oh, it’s at the last rest stop. You drove away, thinking there was nothing but time. And I say, why the hell didn’t you tell me?! And he says, I tried. Like, a million times. Every day. Every word you wrote for your work. Every fucking moment that passed that you let go without doing something to make it matter. Every season that passed, every holiday you didn’t spend with anyone. A million times I tried. But you didn’t listen.” I was breathing heavily and staring at the carpet. I looked up at her and she stared at me. “Important women in your life leave you.” “Yes.” “And you blame yourself.” “No. Maybe. Yes.” “You ask, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ Worse. You doubt yourself. You no longer try.” I watched her. I refused to nod. I didn’t have to. She seemed to know what I was thinking. “The story forms,” she continued. “The women leave. You’re to blame. So you retreat, don’t trust, perhaps begin to loathe yourself like they must have. The story hardens. What was once merely a thought, a fleeting, fact-less notion, is now a bedrock truth.”
“Let’s stop for today maybe,” I said to the floor.
“This is where the fear comes from.”
“The fear comes from opening my eyes in the morning.”
(replace "fear" with ❤️🔥onfire - only lately have I been stupified)
dickbutter batch idea: nap (got a better idea?)
