Break It Open

I think I really only have 12 minutes to be here, but it's 12 minutes I can have, and well, stream of consciousness--as that's definitely all I'm capable of at this point--usually works better when there's a time limit.

Sorry I haven't been posting. It's not that I don't have things to say. I have plenty to say, I guess, but I don't really know how, or which parts to share with whom. And I've been really busy. Really busy.

I'm playing the song. I blamed my mood yesterday on lots of frustrations, but I can't imagine that those minor everyday annoyances could really cause the complete loss of self and inability to breathe. It had to be the song. So I'm playing it again. Because isn't that what we all do?

It felt better once I started dancing. Actually, it felt better once I had the cheetos, because it was so honest and real, and sometimes a little reality is all I need to pull me back down. Cheetos are real and the friend offering is real, but it's easy to think that everyone else is pretending maybe just as much as I am most of the time, so maybe they all really hate me.

Or whatever. I'm still in a weird mood. I got to work on time which means that I woke up early. But I did it. All on my own. Last night was the first night sleeping in my bed in two nights. I changed the sheets and slept naked and it helped.

The cheetos and the smelly shirt that everyone was in on all helped. Agreeing about the gun, but kinda feeling that way about the whole number, it was nice to know I wasn't alone, at least for part of it. Dancing helped. When I got to the game, I thought she would understand, so I told her "I want to run my ass off, I want to just, drill it into the ground". But she didn't understand, and we were all getting ready so most everyone else heard too. It felt better when I took myself out as punishment. It felt better to have the incomprehensible pain of them scoring when I wasn't on the field. I went back in though, right away, and that definitely felt better. It's nice to know I know myself well enough to take away the good, just for a little bit, so that I can remember to appreciate it. I didn't stop running for the rest of the game, and it hurts today, in that really good way.

We told each other why we ended up not killing ourselves in high school. It was interesting. Our reasons were exactly the same, and utterly distinct, and that felt good too.
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I wrote something. Once I type it out (it's currently on the torn lid of a pizza box...) I'll post it here. I think it might be good.
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Sister Spit ruled, but either I haven't had enough human contact or coffee or whatever to give the story justice. It's a good one. It's a happy one. It's ... It was great. Have you gone here yet? www.sisterspitnextgen.com.