Still Fucking Here
Coffee Basket: 1, Me: 0
My throat hurts, and the world has moved on without me. I’m keeping this journal because apparently that’s what you do when you’re trying to stay alive longer, build routines, do the things. Does it help? Genuinely no idea. But here we are.
Every Monday feels like a reset. Every Monday lies. This one started the same way the good ones do, quiet, careful, one more decent night of sleep after a weekend that was complex and strange and somehow fine. I kept telling myself I was handling it. I must be normal. I must be normal. I must be normal.
I am not normal.
All I was trying to do was wash the coffee maker parts. Something fell. I told myself it wouldn’t go down the drain. It went down the drain. More parts followed. And then I was gone, blacked out somewhere between the first scream and tipping over the fridge. Ripping things off walls. Throwing myself around until my knee buckled and I went down hard. I tried to chew through the carpet. I screamed until I thought, genuinely thought, if I just never breathed in again, that would be it. I tried.
I didn’t manage it.
Outside, a rainbow cracked open over the roofline, indifferent and stupidly beautiful, arcing over the gray hills like the sky was completely unbothered by everything happening inside. The trees were doing their spring thing. The lawn was green and wet and calm. None of it cared.
And I’m still here. Hurt knee, wrecked routine, scale confirmed what vacation already knew. I’ve fallen backwards. But the fridge is upright again, the walls are still standing, and I’ve got work tomorrow, something to reconnect to, something small to finish.
May 13th Keeps Happening
Twenty-four years of May 13ths have delivered domain scams, bike crashes, Badlands sunsets, Wednesday night adventures, and at least one very meaningful mushroom. Looking back, even the hard entries were pointed somewhere. The date has a pattern, and the pattern is motion.
Read more: https://8i11.vercel.app/story/1eby0ghs