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Friday March 13, 2020

  For all the people who insist that God will ‘never give you more than you can handle’ - where the FUCK do you (or God) get off deciding my upper limit for bullshit?

  I picked up the last of my shit from the apartment yesterday about an hour before I had my ‘emergency’ appointment with my therapist. She suggested I start a “gratitude journal” to help temper some of my more volatile mood swings - as if grief isn’t a valid reason for feeling slightly more depressed than usual. Said journal is probably just going to devolve into a sloshy pile of word vomit while I slam my face repeatedly against my keyboard until I can’t feel anything except the jittery buzz of the four successive cups of coffee I had around 6PM this evening.

  Alternately, it will become an endless stream of run-on sentences since I can’t be fucked to edit. My high school English teacher is probably rolling in his grave.

  I don’t know what to write. Maybe a cute physical journal would help motivate me? God knows I need more cat-themed office supplies to clutter up my fucking desk. I literally just opened Notepad on my laptop since I’m about 95% sure I won’t keep this shit up - writing has never felt meaningful unless I know that it’s for someone. Dr Hall would probably say that all of this is “for” me, presumably on the offhand chance I ever want to go back and review the events of what may very well have been the worst fucking day of my life.

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  …so far, anyway. Let’s try to stay optimistic.

  A brief review of the past week (for my masochistic future self, I guess):

  


      
  • Russell Allen (henceforth to be referred to in this journal as Raging Asshole) ended his seven-year relationship with me on what I can only assume was a whim. Or because of the crush he developed on our neighbor.


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  • I had three days to move out of our shared apartment before said neighbor’s lease was up and she was determined to move in.


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  • I, and my three cats, are now stuck in my parents’ basement until such a time as I can move into the shitty one-bedroom the landlady is (graciously?) leasing to me in the same complex, rendering me my ex’s new neighbor in a painfully ironic twist.


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  • And, presumably because The Powers That Be decided that I was more than capable of handling the previous three bullets, the WHO just announced that we’re all officially in a global pandemic. Whatever the fuck that means.


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  I’m not sure if writing this is making me feel better or just slightly more nihilistic. Will check back later when I decide.

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