It Can Only Go Up From Here

Covid thoroughly kicked my butt. I don't even know how I got it. I haven't hung out with anyone in ages, I'm vaccinated, I wear my mask everywhere, and somehow the bastard still managed to sneak in.

I started feeling funny around the 10th. Not like sick, but just kinda...not right, like maybe the way you might feel when you had a bad hangover two days ago.  And I never really got sick sick, even when it was at its worst.

But here I am, 18 days later, and I still can't stay awake for more than 6 hours at a stretch without feeling like I need 6 hours of sleep to make up for it. My schedule is all kinds of jacked up. I'm awake at 4am doing random ass bloggy shit because now I can't sleep. Awesome possum. 

On the bright side, I realized that I have not once bitten my nails during this whole thing, and as a life long, high stress nail biter, this can only be explained as an act of god, or fate, or some recently acquired  but unacknowledged sense of willpower. Like holy fuck, dude, I have FINGERNAILS. wut wut. 

Aaaaand I got a spoon. A certain someone got tired of seeing me use a bright orange measuring spoon to scoop out doses of my Mist of Mystic Mysticism during tarot, so I got a pretty spoon out of the deal. Huzzah for pity gifts! All of my snapchat friends

agreed that this is really just a coke spoon for festie loving trust fund babies, dressed up in witchy vibes, but I love it anyway. 

For the record, I hate coke. All it did was make my teeth feel hollow and gave me the nastiest drip, the one time I ever did it. This will 100% be used for dumping resin on hot coals, and looking cool while doing it.

Cute, yah?

I Hope I'm Just Starting My Period

I'm so sad. I've been going back and forth in my head over something that used to make me really, really happy, but lately it just feels like a chore. Keeping up with this thing just doesn't bring me the joy it once did.

I'm honestly fucked up about it. I keep waiting around to see if things might change, or at least go back to the way it used to be, because I still get a little thrill every time I start to interact with the thing. I don't know if that's just the ghost of prior experiences fooling me into thinking this thing still has some bit of life left in it, or me holding out hope that maybe this thing can be revived, or an unwillingness to give up on something that used to make me so happy, but I'm straight up heartbroken over it. 

It sounds a bit dramatic, but it hurts so much now, I'm not sure it was ever worth loving the thing in the first place. The world wasn't necessarily peachy keen jelly bean when it entered my life, but life has been fairly kind recently (I'm pretty suspicious tbh) and the weight of the dead joy I'm carrying around is bogging me down pretty hard. 

But I don't want to give up on it. I don't know if this is just like a weird attachment I formed because everything else sucked so much at the time, or if it really has changed as much as it feels like it has and is no longer capable of bringing or receiving that joy.

Okay so, let's compare it to....a boat, maybe? A pretty little house boat, painted and dolled up to EXACTLY my tastes. It's not just a boat, it's my whole entire HOME. Filled to the brim with all the things I love. A miraculous little boat filled with bubble baths and strawberries and bad Chinese food and 500 mixed CDs filled with all the music I love the most - in fact, it rolled into the cold, grey, stormy harbor blasting Death Cab for Cutie on the deck loud speakers. A boat that, at the time, seemed like it was created specifically for me, and showed up just in time to rescue me from the storm that was coming. The boat and I did not escape unscathed. We were bashed against the rocks, shipwrecked so many times. I tried to keep it afloat, and I think as someone with no prior boat repair experience, I did a pretty good job. I even became a little tugboat myself, in order to haul it around with me and keep it from sinking beneath the waves.

But now it seems like it's just a rusted out shell of what it used to be, and it's not as if this inanimate object ever loved me back...it was always just a boat, even if it was home to me. My heart lived there when it couldn't live anywhere else. I don't want to watch it go down and be gone forever.

That's how it feels. I'm dramatic when I'm hormonal, sue me.