“What does that even mean? Is it some sort of ironic doom?”
Oh, grammar jokes. How they slay me! Mostly because they are quite rare. And usually poorly done.
Another uneventful day. I’ve pretty much been in the same chair for the last twelve hours. Being a bum doesn’t really suit me, but eh. I’m tired.
My spirit is tired. It’s the wrong point in the game to be so exhausted, but nonetheless…
I can’t fight it forever, as much as I would love to.
I feel like a veritable pile of shit.
Sara suggested earlier that I might want to think about returning to therapy. The last time was maybe three years ago now. A part of me was considering it a few weeks ago when absolutely nothing felt right. Since then I have picked up a few more of the pieces of what feels like a broken life, so I’m not so sure I need to talk to a counselor again. In addition, that sort of therapy really depends on a good doctor-patient relationship, and some people spend weeks finding the right person to unload upon. My last doctor scared me a bit, and she always sounded like she wanted to scold me. This, of course, didn’t help me at all and caused me to just clam up. I didn’t want to share my soul with that hunchbacked fire crotch of a therapist. Gag. She also always compared my situation to her own family, which bothered me to no end. As soon as my ten co-payment sessions were up, I said adios to that woman.
Meh. It always boils down to money. I think I would like a neutral person to talk to, but eventually monetary funds will become an issue. And school is already a heavy financial burden.
I’ll just wait and see. I know I will be OK; I just wish I could skip ahead a few months into the future.