I’m laying here in bed. Cat is sleeping downstairs. The TV was making too much noise. He has very delicate selective hearing. I fucking hate holiday television. Maybe he does too. My medicine made my stomach hurt and now I’m getting warm and clammy. Nothing is going right.
It’s near 4AM. I’m thinking about tomorrow, I mean today.Thinking about going to the game store to see the owner who messages me sometimes. Thinking about getting some nerd convention (Star Trek and Star Gate) tickets. Wait, I have no money. Thinking about traveling to New Orleans. Wait, I have no money. Thinking about dating. Thinking about what I want. Thinking about escaping my mind.
Thinking about escaping my mind. It’s been weeks since I’ve really gone out. Comes and goes since August. But what I’ve been feeling has been fairly consistent for longer than usual. If it’s not the physical pain I’m plagued with, it’s hopelessness that has cause but, even so, is annoying. And if it’s not either of those, it’s the arguing that ensues growing the rift between me and the person I live with who doesn’t understand chronic pain or anything else I’m going through no matter how hard I try to explain.
Nothing I was thinking about doing tomorrow is going to happen. I’m going to be safe and stay right where I am. And the person I live with will complain that I’m lazy. I’ll forget what day it is. I won’t keep track of the time. My morning is my night. This is my life. I might not be okay with it, but it’s what I have to deal with and I’m too damn tired and weak to change myself.