my therapist says (i am one of those people who needs to start a lot of things with “my therapist says”, because i keep her voice in the back of my head as a reminder to Not Be An Asshole To Myself, and since she’s basically a sweet little pixie of a human being, it’s very effective. my therapist says that if that works, then go with it) that i should keep track of things more often. what she really said was that i should have some sort of way of chronicling the days since i am basically a hermit that lives in a shed and hisses at anyone if they get too close to the gate, but she said it much more politely than i would have. hissss.
my therapist does not have an opinion on my not using caps when i’m typing on the laptop, but that’s because my fingies hurt and stretching to the shift key is occasionally more than i am willing to do. the joys of post-COVID life; stuff hurts sometimes and there’s no explanation for why.
i’m just low, mes amis. low for the obvious reasons; the country is falling to wet, mildewy pieces and all we can do is watch, the days are cold and dark and there’s not enough sun, there’s too much to watch and it’s so hard to pick what to watch first so i just watch the same things over and over because i’m autistic and being able to recite the lines along with the actors is my confort zone and i am [REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED] but it is what it is.
the black dog does not sleep. it needs no rest. it does not eat. it needs no sustenance. it follows, slowly but steadily, and it does not falter. sometimes i can distract it, sometimes i can delay it, but it never leaves. which is okay, because it’s still a dog and i love dogs, but it’s hard to love the hunter when we both know what happens if and when it catches up to me.