But it’s not enough. I’m so mad I want to buy a steak and just chew and chew and chew on it (I’m broke, and 85% vegan, so I’m mad).
“The trick is to keep breathing.” I never expected to hear that in a Garbage song. But there it was. Staring at me with the insightful innocence of a baby. The best parts of me are automatic: breathing, heart beating, eye blinking. It’s the rest of me you can’t count on. If I could just concentrate, just direct the bowling ball down the center of the lane long enough so it can see what brand the pins are.
Oh, Monday. He must feel so victimized. We blame everything on him. But it’s difficult not to. He’s always bad, or bland, which is worse. I have to see myself, not my circumstances. It’s like breaking up: It’s not you, it’s me.
MYSELF: like everyone else, same shit, different smell. MY CIRCUMSTANCES: like everyone else, same shit, different smell.