2017-01-21 03:21:32 UTC
In fairness, it’s not actually the end of times personally. My relationship is tits, the federal bureau hasn’t wanted to talk to me in ages, and I want not for food or rent. But even so ... in the last six months I’ve had to kill two of my three dogs, dad's gotten not-particularly-curable cancer, R's mom died leaving us mired in probate hell with his methamphetamine-ravaged sister, work has devolved into this Dilbert-esque nightmare where I’m formally mandated to do my idiot boss’s job in addition to my own, and the responsibility of supporting mom has started to feel like an unbearable weight on my chest. Oh, and I've HAD TO STOP RUNNING.
Arthritis. Fuck you, universe. I used to do this gratitude thing while on the road, basically thanking the gods for how well my body still functioned, knowing full good and well that some day it would not. I foolishly assumed “some day” was going to be in my 70s, not my 40s. Of course, when I wasn’t doing the gratitude thing I was busy deliberately and aggressively interacting with inconsiderate drivers, so maybe karma's an actual thing.
Why am I back here? Ranting to an empty newsgroup instead of engaging in any of the half dozen healthier acts which spring to mind? I mean, I could be downward dogging it or practicing my penmanship right now. But I dunno, talking to myself has always been soothing. And maybe trying to recreate the way I used to be able to freely vent my screwed up psyche instead of breathing deeply and shoving it down into my abdomen could be therapeutic. Minus most of the flaming even, from the looks of it around here. So, bonus.