first

Hi.

cough. um. palms into eyeballs, smearing around my face. groaning.

Fuck. Okay.

louder

Hi. Hello?

whining. self pitying. yeah. I’m feeling a good large amount of that right now. Not enough to not notice things (Louis the Linguist sending pictures of his food and describing how he was combing all the veggies together. Linguists and typos. Talk about the potency of freudian slips) but enough to feel very sunk. Very deep down sunk. The net of my being slung way low by this giant fucking boulder of self-pity.

I’m loving this album, too. The Grapefruit Skies by TEEKS in addition to of course (though definitely fucking not of course) folklore. Oh Tswifty you breathy balm of sweet simplicity.

I want to gently sway with my eyes closed and let the net sink even lower. Maybe it will even graze the bottom, whatever that is. I wonder if it is dry and dusty and flat or if it is sharp and jagged like the surface of the moon or if it mushy and thick, bubbling and coagulated like the marsh that is always at the beginning of everything. Probably it is all of those things.

The bottom of things is vast and has varied terrain. That’s pretty great.

The Boulder of Self Pity has me pinned at the bottom of my net like a smooshed starfish, its rough weight pressing the breath out of my gut. The net is soft and imperturbable, causing me no discomfort at all except for where I can feel my skin and muscle and soft bits pressing through the holes in the weave like suction cups. Sucking sucking sucking down, slung low.

Wouldn’t it be fun to feel the bottom on my back, and to use the corresponding weight of it to press back on The Pity, to wriggle out from underneath it and slip through the widened holes in the weave of my being (from being stretched all the way down) to escape out from there and explore. Set out like a little mini action figure on a quest, into the strange and exciting landscape that is rock bottom. I think it would be wonderful. A very refreshing change. and very likely totally fucking fun.