So…I was going to write yesterday but then got freaked out about jinxing us in our path. And he did ask for wine when I had him make that loin for dinner–mashed up turnips and potatoes with an instant pot pork loin cooked in 20 minutes—and I won the argument because–I have been sleeping, guys. This is a new thing for me, and clearly my liver was the thing waking up at 3 am every night, ready to start a new day, one day closer to its end…there definitely is no way to survive favorably in a condition like that—and maybe life can keep going on this way, pleasant and not divided–the days are a little easier to bear if they aren’t punctuated by bullshit, easier to manifest out of the bottom of a wine bottle than the two of us, jaws open watching the Olympics, readily aware of our own shortcomings as human beings, left out in the rain, forgotten buckets of nothing more than we’re not.

I’ve got a new goal–err, goals. Don considers the idea of a lottery in a different way than I do sometimes, and that is okay…I think it’s a better idea than most I’ve had, and has a place to be, cuddled up and happy in a possible pocket.

If we can be good, maybe so. It’s another Valentine’s day where we have nothing—man this place is roughly double what we spent on the last one–and though the possibilities are infinitely better in literally every realm–there were better things perhaps to spend on that on in the nearest future we could imagine for ourselves.

Right now we are both trying to literally not die–this sickness is bullshit and yikes on all the people dying of the flu. I don’t worry as much about it because come on now–nothing has killed me now, that would be the most pathetic story you’d ever read.

So this time—we are on day 9 of full on sobriety. Not being drunk definitely makes you feel less less loved, not more loved, exactly–but the comparison? I am just indifferent now to the amount or people that might hate my guts. I think I did a better job working as well–and the more I am cognizant, the more I can accomplish.

Even the spaces of time between when he gets home and my work had been filled with wasteful I want to sleep time…there’s more to do, more to do for sure. This is a space in between when he is home and I am not working–a definite change of opportunity–a change of everything worth something.

Holy crap this thing on my face–unfuckingbelievable. If more of you people interacted, I would certainly share a little more. Oh you mean THERE’S EVEN MORE than splattering your insides all over echo chambers of internet strings of together, behind cell phones and monitors, pads and pods and tvs alike. But all so quiet, all so impersonal. Bot bot bot bot bot…

Sometimes I am clearly bored with everything–but mostly I am bored of the monotony of nothing changing. So that’s what happened there….and the jumping board–it’ll come.

Now it’s time to make some flaxseed oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and watch Dr. Phil. Because fuck you, I get out of work early enough to make cookies and watch Dr. Phil.

And that is something you thought you’d never read from me.

ASta la pasta fuckers. PLEASE SAY FUCKING HELLO–you know this is something you may have muttered to yourself at some point in your life…right now I need a little more than I’ve been getting from the world. Which is admittedly, nothing lately.