Fuck you, I’m cute.
I found a fucking car. I found a fucking car and I’m $300 fucking short.
I started writing yesterday, mentally more than anything. I let some of that bleed onto twitter though just the passing thoughts. No meat. I’m a twitter vegan. I think if I can focus more than three seconds at a time I could do better.
Not more than a year ago I had comedians coming to me for material. The thing with depression is no matter how good the offer is it isn’t enough. Do I feel good about what I do when I do it? DEFINITELY. Do I feel bad when I don’t? ABSOLUTELY. There is no grey area in my head. It’s always been all or nothing. I’m a sloppy perfectionist and I’m told that’s okay.
Right now I’m digging my way though the nothing. How Neverending Story, right? Severely less cool.
Feeling a little better though and that definitely counts for something.
For the record, slightly less suicidal today.
It occurs to me that I have no idea how to show someone I love them without spending money on them.
This watch is all love.
$235 worth of love.
Just because I appear functioning; because I have willed myself out of bed and to work, does not mean I’m any less on the edge as I was the other day when I contemplated jumping into the path of the subway.