for the second time this year i think i seem to have been struck by a mystery illness, giving me the first sign that something was up on tuesday but never quite coming to a head, just feeling tired, malaisey, some vague feeling of gastronomic distress that never shifts, perhaps coming to a head today but who knows, and what even the fuck is it, do i need to start spraying down my groceries with alcohol like it’s 2020, sanitize my hands every 5 minutes like andy, i knowwww, first post in forever and i don’t know why, nothing in me again, too sick to write, too well to have anything to write about, or is it the creeping suspicion that i am not quite alone, not quite as private as i had thought, need a new secret place, one for emma and one for fucking nobody, feel like i’m in trouble all the time, or that everyone is mad at me, am i going to lose my job, am i dying, is the garden the only thing i care about, did i say as much to sharon, what the fuck is wrong with me, did i finally learn at age 42 where the diaphragm is, middlemarch is my favorite in the march trilogy, the feeling that i must come off the welly b again, every blanket is a weighted blanket when you have a cat, it’s just not doing the thing that it did before and getting all the worst side effects even at the lowest dose, maybe try microdosing again if i can stomach it, just long to sleep, or be in a coma, for the first time in about 20 years i have a therapist that i’m afraid of losing, tired dead eyes, no family, can’t depend on anyone anymore but i have a number of people that are dependent on me, hospital fantasy, drink more water, can i justify having another bath this week, did i catch this thing from emma, is it time to retire, bunny garden
bunny