I wonder if there’s another universe where another me:
Got up before 11:30.
Ate a vegetable.
Did not get twisted.
Took more than 157 steps.
Brushed my teeth.
Took my meds.
Didn’t jerk off to some truly fucked up porn.
Didn’t chew on regrets.
Lived in my own apartment.
Didn’t feel stuck in a groundhog Sunday.
Talked (not text or email or Snapchat or whatever the fuck the kids do now) to another human being.
Accentuated the positive.
Focused on what mattered.
I’d like to meet that other me on some impossible plane. I’d like to walk up to him/me and punch him/I in our dick.
He/me was making me/him feel bad about ourselves.
We probably don’t have the physics or pronouns right but we us-ses don’t care.
Do we, precious?
Everyone, even us with mental health challenges have shit days. You go to bed. You get the fuck up the next day. You start over and you see if you can do better.
It makes us wonder how we keep from goin’ under
It’s a’ight. We can swim. We just like to kick it poolside sometimes.
What’s so bad about a lazy Sunday?