Friday
Sponsor
Me, myself, & I.
Just feels like therapy at this point is a f*cking waste of everybody's time. Can shit get worse? Of course. Always. But just on a black & white reckoning, the fat lady has already f*cking sung. The opera is over. All the crisis bullshit where there's shit worth saving is long past and we are in the motherf*cking breaking down of sets and sweeping the damn aisles. The cast has gone home, the crew is drunk, and the audience is on about their own lives. I don't have a life TO save. I'm trying to rebuild a damn life, and that is a pedantically cock juggling painfully slow, boring, and largely pointless process of no damn moment. Because I ain't at a place where I CAN bloody rebuild. So what do I need help with? Nothing to save. Nothing to do but wait. So what the hell? Sigh. >.<
Just feels like therapy at this point is a f*cking waste of everybody's time. Can shit get worse? Of course. Always. But just on a black & white reckoning, the fat lady has already f*cking sung. The opera is over. All the crisis bullshit where there's shit worth saving is long past and we are in the motherf*cking breaking down of sets and sweeping the damn aisles. The cast has gone home, the crew is drunk, and the audience is on about their own lives. I don't have a life TO save. I'm trying to rebuild a damn life, and that is a pedantically cock juggling painfully slow, boring, and largely pointless process of no damn moment. Because I ain't at a place where I CAN bloody rebuild. So what do I need help with? Nothing to save. Nothing to do but wait. So what the hell? Sigh. >.<