So we meet again dear reader. Been a bout of the ups and downs this week. But the barometer has taken a sharp upwards tick.
This, of course, means the downfall will be that much more dramatic. Controlled plummeting is plummeting still.
So it is with tepid at best expectations I have thrown myself into writing. And of course, like erectile dysfunction at an orgy, I hit a brick wall. I have stayed awake in bed with plots and twists running in from every direction. But sit at the computer with a blank screen for an hour? Creation boner gone.
Fate is a dick tease.
I also reached this strange plateau on the sickness. I feel really superficial and bad about it. Maybe it is too soon. Or maybe I am not totally irredeemable as a person but it feels so circular and sad. Everyone, even the ones I do callously swipe left on, is looking for that real connection. The feeling of being wanted. But it is wrapped up in this shell of money and desperation.
It must be what a trophy hunter feels after killing a sick lion. Like being half a person. Maybe my mania has me too introspective.
Well, you know how mental illness is. Stick around, the mood will dramatically shift and then instead of flowers, everything smells like shit.
If you did not read my epic post on proper biscuit storage on Facebook it was basically one of these posts. No dating or inner feelings though. So may be better.
If you did and came here, SUCKER!
Love you dear reader.